OLD   KASKASKIA 


BY 


MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  LADY  OF  FORT  ST.  JOHN,"  "  THE  ROMANCE  OF 

DOLLARD,"  ETC. 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

(Ct»e  ftitctijjbc  pm9y  CambriUoc 
i393 


Copyright,  1893,       ' 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.,  and 
MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  8.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  FIRST:  p^^^ 

The  Bonfire  of  St.  John  .......      1 

PART  SECOND: 

A  Field  Day 55 

PART  THIRD: 

The  Rising iqq 

PART  FOURTH: 

The  Flood jgQ 


OLD  KASKASKIA. 


PART  FIRST. 

THE   BONFIRE   OF   ST.    JOHN. 

Early  in  the  century,  on  a  summer  even- 
ing, Jean  Lozier  stood  on  the  bluff  looking 
at  Kaskaskia.  He  loved  it  with  the  home- 
sick longing  of  one  who  is  born  for  towns 
and  condemned  to  the  fields.  Moses  looking 
into  the  promised  land  had  such  virions  and 
ideals  as  this  old  lad  cherished.  Jean  was 
old  in  feeling,  though  not  yet  out  of  his 
teens.  The  training-masters  of  life  had  got 
him  early,  and  found  under  his  red  sunburn 
and  knobby  joints,  his  black  eyes  and  bushy 
eyebrows,  the  nature  that  passionately  as- 
pires. The  town  of  Kaskaskia  was  his 
sweetheart.  It  tantalized  him  with  advan- 
tage and  growth  while  he  had  to  turn  the 


2.  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

clods  of  the  upland.  The  long  peninsula  on 
which  Kaskaskia  stood,  between  the  Okaw 
and  the  Mississippi  rivers,  lay  below  him  in 
the  glory  of  sunset.  Southward  to  the  point 
spread  lands  owned  by  the  parish,  and 
known  as  the  common  pasture.  Jean  could 
see  the  church  of  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion and  the  tower  built  for  its  ancient  bell, 
the  convent  northward,  and  all  the  pleasant 
streets  bowered  in  trees.  The  wharf  was 
crowded  with  vessels  from  New  Orleans  and 
Cahokia,  and  the  arched  stone  bridge  across 
the  Okaw  was  a  thoroughfare  of  hurrying 
carriages. 

The  road  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff,  more 
than  a  hundred  feet  below  Jean,  showed  its 
white  flint  belt  in  distant  laps  and  stretches 
through  northern  foliage.  It  led  to  the  ter- 
ritorial governor's  country-seat  of  Elvirade  ; 
thence  to  Fort  Chartres  and  Prairie  du 
Rocher ;  so  on  to  Cahokia,  where  it  met  the 
great  trails  of  the  far  north.  The  road  also 
swarmed  with  carriages  and  riders  on  horses, 
all  moving  toward  Colonel  Pierre  Menard's 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  8 

house.  Jean  could  not  see  his  seignior's 
chimneys  for  the  trees  and  the  dismantled 
and  deserted  earthworks  of  Fort  Gage.  The 
fort  had  once  protected  Kaskaskia,  but  in 
these  early  peaceful  times  of  the  Illinois 
Territory  it  no  longer  maintained  a  garrison. 
The  lad  guessed  what  was  going  on ;  those 
happy  Kaskaskians,  the  fine  world,  were  hav- 
ing a  ball  at  Colonel  Menard's.  Summer 
and  winter  they  danced,  they  made  fetes, 
they  enjoyed  life.  When  the  territorial 
Assembly  met  in  this  capital  of  the  West, 
he  had  often  frosted  himself  late  into  the 
winter  night,  watching  the  lights  and  listen- 
ing to  the  music  in  Kaskaskia.  Jean  Lozier 
knew  every  bit  of  its  history.  The  parish 
priest.  Father  Olivier,  who  came  to  hear  him 
confess  because  he  could  not  leave  his  grand- 
father, had  told  it  to  him.  There  was  a 
record  book  transmitted  from  priest  to  priest 
from  the  earliest  settlement  of  Cascasquia 
of  the  Illinois.  Jean  loved  the  story  of 
young  D'Artaguette,  whom  the  boatmen  yet 
celebrated  in  song.     On  moonlight  nights, 


4-  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

wlien  the  Mississippi  showed  its  broad  sheet 
four  miles  away  across  the  level  plain,  he 
sometimes  fooled  himself  with  thinking  he 
could  see  the  fleet  of  young  soldiers  passing 
down  the  river,  bearing  the  French  flag ; 
phantoms  proceeding  again  to  their  tragedy 
and  the  Indian  stake. 

He  admired  the  seat  where  his  seignioi* 
lived  in  comfort  and  great  hospitality,  but 
all  the  crowds  pressing  to  Pierre  Menard's 
house  seemed  to  him  to  have  less  wisdom 
than  the  single  man  who  met  and  passed 
them  and  crossed  the  bridge  into  Kaskaskia. 
The  vesper  bell  rung,  breaking  its  music  in 
echoes  against  the  sandstone  bosom  of  the 
bluff.  Eed  splendors  faded  from  the  sky, 
leaving  a  pearl-gray  bank  heaped  over  the 
farther  river.    Still  Jean  watched  Kaskaskia. 

"But  the  glory  remains  when  the  light  fades  away," 

he  sung  to  himself.  He  had  caught  the  line 
from  some  English  boatmen. 

"  Ye  dog,  ye  dog,  where  are  you,  ye  dog  ?  " 
called  a  voice  from  the  woods  behind  him. 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  5 

"  Here,  grandfather,"  answered  Jean, 
starting  like  a  whipped  dog.  He  took  his 
red  cap  from  under  his  arm,  sighing,  and 
slouched  away  from  the  bluff  edge,  the  coarse 
homespun  which  he  wore  revealing  knots 
and  joints  in  his  work-hardened  frame. 

"  Ye  dog,  am  I  to  have  my  supper  to- 
night?" 

"  Yes,  grandfather." 

But  Jean  took  one  more  look  at  the  capi- 
tal of  his  love,  which  he  had  never  entered, 
and  for  which  he  was  unceasingly  homesick. 
The  governor's  carriage  dashed  along  the 
road  beneath  him,  with  a  military  escort 
from  Fort  Chartres.  He  felt  no  envy  of 
such  state.  He  would  have  used  the  car- 
riage to  cross  the  bridge. 

"  If  I  but  lived  in  Kaskaskia !  "  whis- 
pered Jean. 

The  man  on  horseback,  who  met  and 
passed  the  ball-goers,  rode  through  Kaskas- 
kia's  twinkling  streets  in  the  pleasant  glow 
of  twilight.  Trade  had  not  reached  its 
day's  end.     The  crack  of  long  whips  could 


f  OLD  KASEASKIA. 

be  heard,  flourished  over  oxen  yoked  by  the 
horns,  or  three  or  four  ponies  hitched  tan- 
dem, all  driven  without  reins,  and  drawing 
huge  bales  of  merchaidise.  Few  of  the 
houses  were  more  than  one  story  high,  but 
they  had  a  sumptuous  spread,  each  in  its 
own  square  of  lawn,  orchard,  and  garden. 
They  were  built  of  stone,  or  of  timbers  filled 
in  with  stone  and  mortar. 

The  rider  turned  several  corners,  and 
stopped  in  front  of  a  small  house  which  dis- 
played the  wares  of  a  penny-trader  in  it& 
window. 

From  the  open  one  of  the  two  front  doors 
a  black  boy  came  directly  out  to  take  the 
bridle ;  and  behind  him  skipped  a  wiry 
shaven  person,  whose  sleek  crown  was  partly 
covered  by  a  Madras  handkerchief,  the  com- 
mon headgear  of  humble  Kaskaskians.  His 
feet  clogged  their  lightness  with  a  pair  of 
the  wooden  shoes  manufactured  for  slaves. 
A  sleeved  blanket,  made  with  a  hood  which 
lay  back  on  his  shoulders,  almost  covered 
him,  and  was  girdled  at  the  waist  by  a  knot- 
ted cord. 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  7 

"  Here  I  am  again,  Father  Baby,"  hailed 
the  rider,  alighting. 

"Welcome  home,  doctor.  What  news 
from  Fort  Chartres  ?  " 

"  No  news.  My  friend  the  surgeon  is 
doing  well.  He  need  not  have  sent  for  me  ; 
but  your  carving  doctor  is  a  great  coward 
when  it  comes  to  physicking  himself." 

They  entered  the  shop,  while  the  slave  led 
the  horse  away ;  and  no  customers  demand- 
ing the  trading  friar's  attention,  he  followed 
his  lodger  to  an  inner  room,  having  first 
lighted  candles  in  his  wooden  sconces.  Their 
yellow  lustre  showed  the  tidiness  of  the  shop, 
and  the  penny  merchandise  arranged  on 
shelves  with  that  exactness  which  has  been 
thought  peculiar  to  unmarried  women. 
Father  Baby  was  a  scandal  to  the  estab- 
lished confessor  of  the  parish,  and  the  joke 
of  the  ungodly.  Some  said  he  had  been  a 
dancing-master  before  he  entered  the  clois- 
ter, and  it  was  no  wonder  he  turned  out 
a  renegade  and  took  to  trading.  Others 
declared  that  he  had  no  right  to  the  gray 


8  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

capote,  and  his  tonsure  was  a  natural  loss  of 
hair ;  in  fact,  that  he  never  had  been  a  friar 
at  all.  But  in  Kaskaskia  nobody  took  him 
seriously,  and  Father  Olivier  was  not  severe 
upon  him.  Custom  made  his  harlequin 
antics  a  matter  of  course ;  though  Indians 
still  paused  opposite  his  shop  and  grinned  at 
sight  of  a  long-gown  peddling.  His  reli- 
gious practices  were  regular  and  severe,  and 
he  laid  penance  on  himself  for  all  the  cheat- 
ing he  was  able  to  accomplish. 

"  I  rode  down  from  Elvirade  with  Gover- 
nor Edwards,"  said  the  doctor.  "  He  and 
all  Kaskaskia  appear  to  be  going  to  Colonel 
Menard's  to-night." 

"  Yes,  I  stood  and  counted  the  carriages : 
the  Bonds,  the  Morrisons,  the  Vigos,  the 
Saueiers,  the  Edgars,  the  Joneses  "  — 

"  Has  anything  happened  these  three  days 
past?"  inquired  the  doctor,  breaking  off 
this  list  of  notable  Kaskaskians. 

"  Oh,  many  things  have  happened.  But 
first  here  is  your  billet." 

The  young  man  broke  the  wafer  of  his 
invitation  and  unfolded  the  paper. 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  9 

"It  is  a  dancing-party,"  he  remarked. 
His  nose  took  an  aquiline  curve  peculiar  to 
him.  The  open  sheet,  as  he  held  it,  showed 
the  name  of  "  Dr.  Dunlap  "  written  on  the 
outside.  He  leaned  against  a  high  black 
mantel. 

"You  will  want  hot  shaving- water  and 
your  best  ruffled  shirt,"  urged  the  friar. 

"  I  never  dance,"  said  the  other  indiffer- 
ently. 

"  And  you  do  well  not  to,"  declared 
Father  Baby,  with  some  contemptuous  im- 
patience. "  A  man  who  shakes  like  a  load 
of  hay  should  never  dance.  If  I  had  car- 
ried your  weight,  I  could  have  been  a  holier 


man." 


Dr.  Dunlap  laughed,  and  struck  his  boot 
with  his  riding-whip. 

"  Don't  deceive  yourself,  worthy  father. 
The  making  of  an  abbot  was  not  in  you. 
You  old  rascal,  I  am  scarcely  in  the  house, 
and  there  you  stand  all  of  a  tremble  for 
your  jig." 

Father  Baby's  death's-head  face  wrinkled 


10  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

itself  with  expectant  smiles.  He  shook 
off  his  wooden  shoes  and  whirled  upon  one 
toe. 

The  doctor  went  into  another  room,  his 
own  apartment  in  the  friar's  small  house. 
His  office  fronted  this,  and  gave  him  a  door 
to  the  street.  Its  bottles  and  jars  and  iron 
mortar  and  the  vitreous  slab  on  which  he 
rolled  pills  were  all  lost  in  twilight  now. 
There  were  many  other  doctors'  offices  in 
Kaskaskia,  but  this  was  the  best  equipped 
one,  and  was  the  lair  of  a  man  who  had  not 
only  been  trained  in  Europe,  but  had  sailed 
around  the  entire  world.  Dr.  Dunlap's 
books,  some  of  them  in  board  covers,  made 
a  show  on  his  shelves.  He  had  an  articu- 
lated skeleton,  and  ignorant  Kaskaskians 
would  declare  that  they  had  seen  it  whirl 
past  his  windows,  many  a  night  to  the  music 
of  his  violin. 

"  What  did  you  say  had  happened  since  I 
went  away  ?  "  he  inquired,  sauntering  back 
and  tuning  his  fiddle  as  he  came. 

"  There 's   plenty  of    news,"    responded 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  11 

Father  Baby.  "  Antoine  Lamarclie's  cow 
fell  into  the  Mississippi." 

Dr.  Dunlap  uttered  a  note  of  contempt. 

"It  would  go  wandering  off  where  the 
land  crumbles  daily  with  that  current  set- 
ting down  from  the  northwest  against  us  ; 
and  Antoine  was  far  from  sneering  in  your 
cold-blooded  English  manner  when  he  got 
the  news." 

"  He  tore  his  hair  and  screamed  in  your 
warm-blooded  French  manner  ?  " 

"  That  he  did." 

The  doctor  stood  in  the  bar  of  candle- 
light which  one  of  the  shop  sconces  extended 
across  the  room,  and  lifted  the  violin  to  his 
neck.  He  was  so  large  that  all  his  gestures 
had  a  ponderous  quality.  His  dress  was 
disarranged  by  riding,  and  his  blond  skin 
was  pricked  through  by  the  untidy  growth 
of  a  three-days'  beard,  yet  he  looked  very 
handsome. 

Dr.  Dunlap  stood  in  the  light,  but  Father 
Baby  chose  the  dark  for  those  ecstatic  antics 
into  which  the  fiddle  threw  him.    He  leaped 


•12  OLD  K ASK  A  SKI  A. 

high  from  the  floor  at  the  first  note,  and 
came  down  into  a  jig  of  the  most  perfect 
execution.  The  pat  of  his  bare  soles  was 
exquisitely  true.  He  raised  the  gown  above 
his  ankles,  and  would  have  seemed  to  float 
but  for  his  response  in  sound.  Yet  through 
his  most  rapturous  action  he  never  ceased  to 
be  conscious  of  the  shop.  A  step  on  the  sill 
would  break  the  violin's  charm  in  the  centre 
of  a  measure. 

But  this  time  no  step  broke  it,  and  the 
doctor  kept  his  puppet  friar  going  until  his 
own  arm  began  to  weary.  The  tune  ended, 
and  Father  Baby  paused,  deprived  of  the 
ether  in  which  he  had  been  floating. 

Dr.  Dunlap  sat  down,  nursing  the  instru- 
ment on  his  crossed  knees  while  he  altered 
its  pitch. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  Colonel  Menard's 
at  all  ?  "  inquired  the  friar. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  waste  of  good  dan- 
cing not  to,"  said  the  doctor  lazily.  "But 
you  have  n't  told  me  who  else  has  lost  a 
cow  or  had  an  increase  of  goats  while  1  was 
away." 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN,  13 

"  The  death  of  even  a  beast  excites  pity 


in  me. 


"  Yes,  you  are  a  holy  man.  You  would 
rather  skin  a  live  Indian  than  a  dead 
sheep." 

The  doctor  tried  his  violin,  and  was  lift- 
ing it  again  to  position  when  Father  Baby 
remarked :  — 

"  They  doubtless  told  you  on  the  road  that 
a  party  has  come  through  from  Post  Vin- 


cennes." 


"  Now  who  would  doubtless  tell  me  that  ?  " 

"The  governor's  suite,  since  they  must 
have  known  it.  The  party  was  in  almost  as 
soon  as  you  left.  Perhaps,"  suggested  the 
friar,  taking  a  crafty  revenge  for  much  in- 
solence, "nobody  would  mention  it  to  you 
on  account  of  Monsieur  Zhone's  sister." 

The  violin  bow  sunk  on  the  strings  with 
a  squeak. 

"  What  sister  ?  " 

"The  only  sister  of  Monsieur  Reece 
Zhone,  Mademoiselle  Zhone,  from  Wales. 
She  came  to  Kaskaskia  with  the  party  from 
Post  Vincennes." 


•14  .     OLD  KASKASKIA. 

On  Dr.  Dunlap's  face  the  unshorn  beard 
developed  like  thorns  on  a  mask  of  wax. 
The  spirit  of  manly  beauty  no  longer  in- 
fused it. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  this  at  first  ?  '^ 
he  asked  roughly. 

"  Is  the  name  of  Zhone  so  pleasant  to 
you?"  hinted  the  shrugging  friar.  "But 
take  an  old  churclunan's  advice  now,  my  son, 
and  make  up  your  quarrel  with  the  lawyer. 
There  wil]  be  occasion.  That  pretty  young 
thing  has  crossed  the  sea  to  die.  I  heard 
her  cough." 

The  doctor's  voice  was  husky  as  he  at- 
tempted to  inquire, — 

"  Did  you  hear  what  she  was  called  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  Mareea  Zhone." 

The  young  man  sagged  forward  over  his 
violin.  Father  Baby  began  to  realize  that 
his  revel  was  over,  and  reluctantly  stuck  his 
toes  again  into  his  wooden  shoes. 

"Will  you  have  something  to  eat  and 
drink  before  you  start?  " 

"  I  don't  want  anything  to  eat,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  Colonel  Menard's  to-night." 


THE  HON  FIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  15 

"  Bat,  my  son,"  reasoned  the  staring  friar, 
"  are  you  going  to  quit  your  victuals  and  all 
good  company  because  one  more  Zhone  has 
come  to  town,  and  that  one  such  a  small, 
heljiless  creature?  Mademoiselle  Saucier 
will  be  at  Menard's.'* 

Dr.  Dunlap  wiped  his  forehead.  He,  and 
not  the  cool  friar,  appeared  to  have  been 
the  dancer.  A  chorus  of  slaves  singing  on 
some  neighboring  gallery  could  be  heard  in 
the  pause  of  the  violin.  Beetles,  lured  by 
the  shop  candles,  began  to  explore  the  room 
where  the  two  men  were,  bumping  themselves 
against  the  walls  and  buzzing  their  com- 
plaints. 

"  A  man  is  nothing  but  a  young  beast 
until  he  is  past  twenty-five  years  old,"  said 
Dr.  Dunlap. 

Father  Baby  added  his  own  opinion  to 
this  general  remark  :  — 

"  Very  often  he  is  nothing  but  an  old 
beast  when  you  catch  him  past  seventy.  But 
it  all  depends  on  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is." 

"  Friar,  do  you  believe  in  marriage  ?  " 


16  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  How  could  I  believe  in  marriage  ?  " 

"  But  do  you  believe  in  it  for  other  peo- 
ple?" 

"  The  Church  has  always  held  it  to  be  a 
sacred  institution." 

Dr.  Dunlap  muttered  a  combination  of 
explosive  words  which  he  had  probably 
picked  up  from  sailors,  making  the  church- 
man cross  himself.  He  spoke  out,  with  a 
reckless  laugh :  — 

"  I  married  as  soon  as  I  came  of  age, 
and  here  I  am,  ruined  for  my  prime  by  that 
act." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Father  Baby,  setting 
his  hands  on  his  hips,  "  you  a  man  of  family, 
and  playing  bachelor  among  the  women  of 
Kaskaskia  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  wife  now.  She  finally 
died,  thank  Heaven.  If  she  had  only  died 
a  year  sooner !     But  nothing  matters  now." 

"  My  son,"  observed  Father  Baby  severely, 
"  Satan  has  you  in  his  net.  You  utter  pro- 
fane words,  you  rail  against  institutions 
sanctioned  by  the  Church,  and  you  have  de- 


77/ii;  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  17 

sired  the  doutli  of  n  human  being.  Repent 
and  do  penunce  "  — 

"  You  have  a  customer,  friar,"  sneered  the 
young  man,  lifting  his  head  to  glance  aside 
at  a  figure  entering  the  shop.  '^  Vigo's  idiot 
slave  boy  is  waiting  to  be  cheated." 

"  By  my  cappo !  "  whispered  Father  Baby, 
a  cunning  look  netting  wrinkles  over  his 
lean  face,  "  you  remind  me  of  the  bad  shil- 
ling I  have  laid  by  me  to  pass  on  that  nig- 
ger. 0  Lamb  of  mercy,"  —  he  turned  and 
hastily  plumped  on  his  knees  before  a  sacred 
picture  on  the  wall,  —  "I  will,  in  expiation 
for  passing  that  shilling,  say  twelve  paters 
and  twelve  aves  at  the  foot  of  the  altar  of 
thy  Virgin  Mother,  or  I  will  abstain  from 
food  a  whole  day  in  thy  honor." 

Having  offered  this  comj)romise,  Father 
Baby  sprung  with  a  cheerful  eagerness  to 
deal  with  Vigo's  slave  boy. 

The  doctor  sat  still,  his  ears  closed  to  the 
chatter  in  the  shop.  His  bitter  thoughts 
centred  on  the  new  arrival  in  Kaskaskia,  on 
her  brother,  on  all  her  family. 


18     .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

She  herself,  unconscious  that  lie  inhahited 
the  same  hemisphere  with  her,  was  standing 
up  for  the  reel  in  Pierre  Menard's  house. 
The  last  carriage  had  driven  to  the  tall  flight 
of  entrance  steps,  discharged  its  load,  and 
parted  with  its  horses  to  the  huge  stone 
stable  under  the  house.  The  mingling  lan- 
guages of  an  English  and  French  society 
sounded  all  around  her.  The  girl  felt  he- 
wildered,  as  if  she  had  crossed  ocean  and 
forest  to  find,  instead  of  savage  wilder- 
ness, an  enchanted  English  county  full  of 
French  country  estates.  Names  and  digni- 
taries crowded  her  memory. 

A  great  clear  glass,  gilt-framed  and  di- 
vided into  three  panels,  stood  over  the 
drawing-room  mantel.  It  reflected  crowds 
of  animated  faces,  as  the  dance  began,  cross- 
ing and  recrossing  or  running  the  reel  in  a 
vista  of  rooms,  the  fan-lights  around  the 
hall  door  and  its  open  leaves  disclosing  the 
broad  gallery  and  the  dusky  world  of  trees 
outside ;  it  reflected  cluster  on  cluster  of 
wax-lights.      To   this   day  the  great  glass 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  19 

stands  there,  and,  spotless  as  a  clear  con- 
science, waits  upon  the  future.  It  has  held 
the  image  of  Laf aye* '  -;  and  many  an  historic 
companion  of  his. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hall,  in  the  din- 
ing-room, stood  a  carved  mahogany  sideboard 
holding  decanters  and  glasses.  In  this  quiet 
retreat  elderly  people  amused  themselves  at 
card-tables.  Apart  from  them,  but  benig- 
nantly  ready  to  chat  with  everybody,  sat  the 
parish  priest ;  for  every  gathering  of  his 
flock  was  to  him  a  call  for  social  ministra- 
tion. 

A  delicious  odor  of  supper  escaped  across 
a  stone  causeway  from  the  kitchen,  and  all 
the  Menard  negroes,  in  their  best  clothes, 
were  collected  on  the  causeway  to  serve  it. 
Through  open  doors  they  watched  the  flying 
figures,  and  the  rocking  of  many  a  dusky 
heel  kept  time  to  the  music. 

The  first  dance  ended  in  some  slight  con- 
fusion. A  little  cry  went  through  the 
rooms :  "  Rice  Jones's  sister  has  fainted  ! " 
"  Mademoiselle  Zhone  has   fainted !  "     But 


20  .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

a  few  minutes  later  she  was  sitting  on  a  gal- 
lery chair,  leaning  against  her  brother  and 
trying  to  laugh  through  her  coughing,  and 
around  her  stood  all  girlish  Kaskaskia, 
and  t^3  matrons  also,  as  well  as  the  black 
maid  Colonel  Menard  had  sent  with  harts- 
horn. 

Father  Olivier  brought  her  a  glass  of 
wine ;  Mrs.  Edwards  fanned  her ;  the  stars 
shone  through  the  pecan-trees,  and  all  the 
loveliness  of  this  new  hemisphere  and  home 
and  the  kindness  of  the  people  made  her 
close  her  eyes  to  keep  the  tears  from  run- 
ning out.  The  separation  of  the  sick  from 
all  healthy  mankind  had  never  so  hurt  her. 
Something  was  expected  of  her,  and  she 
was  not  equal  to  it.  She  felt  death's  mark 
branding  in,  and  her  family  spoke  of  her 
recovery !  What  folly  it  was  to  come  into 
this  gay  little  world  where  she  had  no  rights 
at  all !  Maria  Jones  wondered  why  she  had 
not  died  at  sea.  To  be  floating  in  that  in- 
finity of  blue  water  would  be  better  than 
this.     She  pictured  herself  in  the  weighted 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  21 

sack,  —  for  we  never  separate  ourselves  from 
our  bodies,  —  and  tender  forgiveness  cover- 
ing all  her  mistakes  as  the  multitude  of 
waters  covered  her. 

"  I  will  not  dance  again,"  laughed  Maria. 
Her  brother  Rice  could  feel  her  little  figure 
tremble  against  him.  "  It  is  ridiculous  to 
try." 

"  We  must  have  you  at  Elvirade,"  said 
the  governor's  wife  soothingly.  "  I  will  not 
let  the  young  people  excite  you  to  too  much 
dancing  there." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Edwards  !  "  exclaimed  Peggy 
Morrison.  "  I  never  do  dance  quite  as  much 
anywhere  else,  or  have  quite  as  good  a  time, 
as  I  do  at  Elvirade." 

"  Hear  these  children  slander  me  when  I 
try  to  set  an  example  of  sobriety  in  the  Ter- 
ritory ! " 

"You  shall  not  want  a  champion,  Mrs. 
Edwards,"  said  Rice  Jones.  "When  I 
want  to  be  in  grave  good  company,  I  always 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  Elvirade." 

"One  ought  to  be  grave  good  company 


22      .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

enough  for  himself,"  retorted  Peggy,  look- 
ing at  Rice  Jones  with  jealous  aggressive- 
ness. She  was  a  lean,  sandy  girl,  at  whom 
he  seldom  glanced,  and  her  acrid  girlhood 
fought  him.  Rice  Jones  was  called  the 
handsomest  man  in  Kaskaskia,  but  his  per- 
sonal beauty  was  nothing  to  the  ambitious 
force  of  his  presence.  The  parted  hair  fitted 
his  broad,  high  head  like  a  glove.  His 
straight  nose  extended  its  tip  below  the 
nostrils  and  shadowed  the  long  upper  lip. 
He  had  a  long  chin,  beautifully  shaped  and 
shaven  clean  as  marble,  a  mouth  like  a  scar- 
let line,  and  a  very  round,  smooth  throat, 
shown  by  his  flaring  collar.  His  complexion 
kept  a  cool  whiteness  which  no  exposure 
tanned,  and  this  made  striking  the  blackness 
of  his  eyes  and  hair. 

"  Please  will  you  all  go  back  into  the  draw- 
ing-room ?  "  begged  Maria.  "  My  brother 
will  bring  me  a  shawl,  and  then  I  shall  need 
nothing  else." 

"  But  may  I  sit  by  you,  mademoiselle  ?  " 
It  was  Angelique  Saucier  leaning  down  to 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  23 

make  this  request,  but  Peggy  Morrison 
laughed. 

"  I  warn  you  against  Angelique,  Miss 
Jones.  She  is  the  man-slayer  of  Kaskaskia. 
They  all  catch  her  like  measles.  If  she 
stays  out  here,  they  will  sit  in  a  row  along 
the  gallery  edge,  and  there  will  be  no  more 
dancing." 

"  Do  not  observe  what  Peggy  says,  made- 
moiselle. We  are  relations,  and  so  we  take 
liberties." 

"  But  no  one  must  give  up  dancing," 
urged  Maria. 

They  arranged  for  her  in  spite  of  protest, 
however.  Rice  muffled  her  in  a  shawl. 
Mademoiselle  Saucier  sat  down  at  her  right 
side  and  Peggy  Morrison  at  her  left,  and  the 
next  dance  began. 

Maria  Jones  had  repressed  and  nestling 
habits.  She  curled  herself  into  a  very  small 
compass  in  the  easy  gallery  chair,  and  looked 
off  into  the  humid  mysteries  of  the  June 
night.  Colonel  Menard's  substantial  slave 
cabins  of  logs  and  stone  were  in  sight,  and 


24  .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

up  the  bluff  near  the  house  was  a  sort  of 
donjon  of  stone,  having  only  one  door  let- 
ting into  its  base. 

*•  That 's  where  Colonel  Menard  puts  his 
bad  Indians,"  said  Peggy  Morrison,  follow- 
ing Maria's  glance. 

"It  is  simply  a  little  fortress  for  times  of 
danger,"  said  Mademoiselle  Saucier,  laugh- 
ing. "  It  is  also  the  colonel's  bureau  for 
valuable  papers,  and  the  dairy  is  under- 
neath." 

"  Well,  you  French  understand  one  an- 
other's housekeeping  better  than  we  English 
do;  and  may  be  the  colonel  has  been  ex- 
plaining these  things  to  you." 

"  But  are  there  any  savage  men  about 
here  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  plenty  of  them,"  declared  Peggy. 
"  We  have  some  Pottawatomies  and  Kicka- 
poos  and  Kaskaskias  always  with  us,  —  like 
the  poor.  Nobody  is  afraid  of  them,  though. 
Colonel  Menard  has  them  all  under  his 
thumb,  and  if  nobody  else  could  manage 
them  he  could.     My  father  says  they  will 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  25 

give  their  furs  to  him  for  nothing  rather 
than  sell  them  to  other  people.  You  must 
see  that  Colonel  Menard  is  very  fascinating, 
but  I  don't  think  he  charms  Angelique  as 
he  does  the  Indians." 

Mademoiselle  Saucier's  smile  excused  any- 
thing Peggy  might  say.  Maria  thought 
this  French  girl  the  most  beautiful  woman 
she  had  ever  seen.  The  waist  of  her  cling- 
ing white  gown  ended  under  the  curve  of 
her  girlish  breasts,  and  face,  neck,  and  arms 
blossomed  out  with  the  polish  of  flower- 
petals.  Around  her  throat  she  wore  gold 
beads  suspending  a  cross.  Her  dark  hair, 
which  had  an  elusive  bluish  mist,  like 
grapes,  was  pinned  high  with  a  gold  comb. 
Her  oval  face  was  full  of  a  mature  sympathy 
unusual  in  girls.  Maria  had  thought  at 
first  she  would  rather  be  alone  on  the  gal- 
lery, but  this  reposeful  and  tender  French 
girl  at  once  became  a  necessity  to  her. 

"  Peggy,"  said  Angelique,  "  I  hear  Jules 
Vigo  inquiring  for  you  in  the  hall." 

"  Then  I  shall  take  to  the  roof,"  responded 

Peggy- 


26  ■     OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  Have  some  regard  for  Jules." 

"  You  may  have,  but  I  shan't.  I  will 
not  dance  with  a  kangaroo." 

"Do  you  not  promise  dances  ahead?"  in- 
quired Maria. 

"No,  our  mothers  do  not  permit  that," 
answered  Angelique.  "  It  is  sometimes  best 
to  sit  still  and  look  on." 

"That  means.  Miss  Jones,"  explained 
Peggy,  "  that  she  has  set  a  fashion  to  give 
the  rest  of  the  girls  a  chance.  I  would  n't 
be  so  mealy-mouthed  about  cutting  them  out. 
But  Angelique  has  been  ruined  by  waiting 
so  much  on  her  tante-gra'mere.  When  you 
bear  an  old  woman's  temper  from  dawn  till 
dusk,  you  soon  forget  you  're  a  girl  in  your 
teens." 

"  Don't  abuse  the  little  tante-gra'mere." 

"  She  gets  praise  enough  at  our  house. 
Mother  says  she 's  a  discipline  that  keeps 
Angelique  from  growing  vain.  Thank 
Heaven,  we  don't  need  such  discipline  in  our 
family." 

"  It  is  my  father's  grand-aunt,"  explained 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN,  21 

Angelique  to  Maria,  "  and  when  you  see 
her,  mademoiselle,  you  will  be  surprised  to 
find  how  well  she  bears  her  hundred  years, 
though  she  has  not  been  out  of  her  bed 
since  I  can  remember.  Mademoiselle,  I 
hope  I  never  shall  be  very  old." 

Maria  gave  Angelique  the  piercing  stare 
which  unconsciously  belongs  to  large  black 
eyes  set  in  a  hectic,  nervous  face. 

"  Would  you  die  now?  " 

"I  feel  always,"  said  the  French  girl, 
"  that  we  stand  facing  the  mystery  every 
minute,  and  sometimes  I  should  like  to  know 
it." 

"Kow  hear  that,"  said  Peggy.  "I'm  no 
Catholic,  but  I  will  say  for  the  mother 
superior  that  she  never  put  that  in  your 
head  at  the  convent.  It  is  wicked  to  say 
you  want  to  die." 

"  But  I  did  not  say  it.  The  mystery  of  be- 
ing without  any  body,  —  that  is  what  I  want 
to  know.     It  is  good  to  meditate  on  death." 

"  It  is  n't  comfortable,"  said  Peggy.  "  It 
makes  me  have  chiUs  down  my  back." 


28  '      OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Slie  glanced  behind  her  through  the 
many-paned  open  window  into  the  dining- 
room.  Three  little  girls  and  a  boy  were 
standing  there,  so  close  to  the  sill  that  their 
breath  had  touched  Peggy's  neck.  They 
were  Colonel  Menard's  motherless  children. 
A  black  maid  was  with  them,  holding  the 
youngest  by  the  hand.  They  were  whisper- 
ing in  French  under  cover  of  the  music. 
French  was  the  second  mother  tongue  of 
every  Kaskaskia  girl,  and  Peggy  heard  what 
they  said  by  merely  taking  her  attention 
from  her  companions. 

"  I  will  get  Jean  Lozier  to  beat  Mon- 
sieur Reece  Zhone.  Jean  Lozier  is  such 
an  obliging  creature  he  will  do  anything  I 
ask  him." 

"  But,  Odile,"  argued  the  boy,  with  some 
sense  of  equity,  "  she  is  not  yet  engaged  to 
our  family." 

"  And  how  shall  we  get  her  engaged  to  us 
if  Monsieur  Reece  Zhone  must  hang  around 
her  ?  Papa  says  he  is  the  most  promising 
young  man  in  the  Territory.     If  I  were  a 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  29 

boy,  Pierre  Menard,  I  would  do  something 
with  him." 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  would  shoot  him.     He  has  duels.'* 

"But  my  father  might  punish  me  for 
that." 

"  Very  well,  chicken-heart.  Let  Made- 
moiselle Saucier  go,  then.  But  I  will  tell 
you  this  :  there  is  no  one  else  in  Kaskaskia 
that  I  will  have  for  a  second  mother." 

"  Yes,  we  have  all  chosen  her,"  owned 
Pierre,  "  but  it  seems  to  me  papa  ought  to 
make  the  marriage." 

"  But  she  would  not  know  we  children 
were  willing  to  have  her.  If  you  did  some- 
thing to  stop  Monsieur  Zhone's  courtship, 
she  would  then  know." 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  out  on  the  gallery 
now  and  tell  her  we  want  her  ?  "  exclaimed 
Pierre.  "  The  colonel  says  it  is  best  to  be 
straightforward  in  any  matter  of  business." 

"  Pierre,  it  is  plain  to  be  seen  that  you  do 
not  know  how  to  deal  with  young  ladies. 
They  like  best  to  be  fought  over.     It  is  not 


30  OLD  EASKASKIA. 

proper  to  tell  her  we  are  willing  to  have  her. 
The  way  to  do  is  to  drive  off  the  other 
suitors." 

"  But  there  are  so  many.  Tante  Isidore 
says  all  the  young  men  in  Kaskaskia  and 
the  officers  left  at  Fort  Chartres  are  her 
suitors.  Monsieur  Reece  Zhone  is  the  worst 
one,  though.  I  might  ask  him  to  go  out  to 
papa's  office  with  me  to-night,  but  we  shall 
be  sent  to  bed  directly  after  supper.  Besides, 
here  sits  his  sister  who  was  carried  out  faint- 
mg. 

"  While  he  is  in  our  house  we  are  obliged 
to  be  polite  to  him,"  said  Odile.  "  But  if 
I  were  a  boy,  I  would,  some  time,  get  on 
my  pony  and  ride  into  Kaskaskia  "  —  The 
conspiring  went  on  in  whispers.  The  chil- 
dren's heads  bobbed  nearer  each  other,  so 
Peggy  overheard  no  more. 

It  was  the  very  next  evening,  the  evening 
of  St.  John's  Day,  that  young  Pierre  rode 
into  Kaskaskia  beside  his  father  to  see  the 
yearly  bonfire  lighted.  Though  many  of  the 
old  French  customs  had  perished  in  a  mix- 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  31 

iiig  of  nationalities,  St.  John's  Day  was  yet 
observed  ;  the  Latin  race  drawing  the  Saxon 
out  to  participate  in  the  festival,  as  so  often 
happens  wherever  they  dwell. 

The  bonfire  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
street  fronting  the  church.  It  was  an  oc- 
tagonal pyramid,  seven  or  eight  feet  high, 
built  of  dry  oak  and  pecan  limbs  and  logs, 
with  straw  at  all  the  corners. 

The  earth  yet  held  a  red  horizon  rim 
around  its  dusky  surface.  Some  half-dis- 
tinct swallows  were  swarming  into  the  church 
belfry,  as  silent  as  bats  ;  but  people  swarm- 
ing on  the  ground  below  made  a  cheerful 
noise,  like  a  fair.  The  St.  John  bonfire  was 
not  a  religious  ceremony,  but  its  character 
lifted  it  above  the  ordinary  burning  of  brush- 
wood at  night.  The  most  dignified  Kaskas- 
kians,  heretics  as  well  as  papists,  came  out 
to  see  it  lighted ;  the  pagan  spell  of  Mid- 
summer Night  more  or  less  affecting  them 
all. 

Red  points  appeared  at  the  pile's  eight 
corners  and  sprung  up  flame,  showing  the 


32  '       OLD  KASKASKIA. 

eight  lads  who  were  bent  down  bio  whig 
them  ;  showing  the  church  front,  and  the 
steps  covered  with  little  negroes  good-na- 
turedly fighting  and  crowding  one  another 
off;  showing  the  crosses  of  slate  and  wood 
and  square  marble  tombs  in  the  graveyard, 
and  a  crowd  of  honest  faces,  red  kerchiefs, 
gray  cappos,  and  wooden  shoes  pressing 
close  around  it.  Children  raced,  shouting 
in  the  light,  perpetuating  unconsciously  the 
fire-worship  of  Asia  by  leaping  across  outer 
edges  of  the  blaze.  It  rose  and  showed  the 
bowered  homes  of  Kaskaskia,  the  tavern  at 
an  angle  of  the  streets,  with  two  Indians,  in 
leggins  and  hunting-shirts,  standing  on  the 
gallery  as  emotionless  spectators.  It  illumi- 
nated fields  and  woods  stretching  southward, 
and  little  weeds  beside  the  road  whitened 
with  dust.  The  roaring  and  crackling  heat 
drove  venturesome  urchins  back. 

Father  Baby  could  be  seen  established 
behind  a  temporary  counter,  conveniently 
near  the  pile,  yet  discreetly  removed  from 
the  church  front.     Thirsty  rustics  and  flat- 


TUE  BOXFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  33 

boat  men  crowded  to  his  kegs  and  clinked 
his  glasses.  The  firelight  shone  on  his  crown 
which  was  bare  to  the  sky.  Father  Olivier 
passed  by,  receiving  submissive  obeisance 
from  the  renegade,  but  returning  him  a  shake 
of  the  head. 

Girls  slipped  back  and  forth  through  the 
church  gate.  Now  their  laughing  faces 
grouped  three  or  four  together  in  the  bon- 
fire light.  In  a  moment,  when  their  mothers 
turned  to  follow  them  with  the  eye,  they 
were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Perhaps  outside 
the  beacon's  glare  hobgoblins  and  fairies 
danced.  Midsummer  Night  tricks  and  the 
freemasonry  of  youth  were  at  work. 

People  watched  one  another  across  that 
pile  with  diverse  aims.  Rice  Jones  had  his 
sister  on  his  arm,  wrapped  in  a  Spanish 
mantilla.  Her  tiny  face,  with  a  rose  above 
one  ear,  was  startling  against  this  black  set- 
ting. They  stood  near  Father  Baby's  booth ; 
and  while  Peggy  Morrison  waited  at  the 
church  gate  to  signal  Maria,  she  resented 
Rice  Jones's  habitual  indifference  to  her  ex- 


34  •     OLD  KASKASKIA. 

istence.  He  saw  Ang^lique  Saucier  beside 
her  mother,  and  the .  men  gathering  to  her, 
among  them  an  officer  from  Fort  Chartres. 
They  troubled  him  little  ;  for  he  intended  in 
due  time  to  put  these  fellows  all  out  of  his 
way.  There  were  other  matters  as  vital  to 
Pice  Jones.  Young  Pierre  Menard  hovered 
vainly  about  him.  The  moment  Maria  left 
him  a  squad  of  country  politicians  sur- 
roimded  their  political  leader,  and  he  did 
some  effectual  work  for  his  party  by  the 
light  of  the  St.  John  fire. 

Darkness  grew  outside  the  irregular  radi- 
ance of  that  pile,  and  the  night  concert  of 
insects  could  be  heard  as  an  interlude 
between  children's  shouts  and  the  hum  of 
voices.  Peggy  Morrison's  lifted  finger 
caught  Maria's  glance.  It  was  an  impera- 
tive gesture,  meaning  haste  and  secrecy,  and 
separation  from  her  brother  Rice.  Maria 
laughed  and  shook  her  head  wistfully.  The 
girlish  pastimes  of  Midsummer  Night  were 
all  done  for  her.  She  thought  of  nights  in 
her  own  wild  county  of  Merionethshire,  when 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  35 

she  had  run,  palpitating  like  a  hare,  to  try 
some  spell  or  charm  which  might  reveal  the 
future  to  her ;  and  now  it  was  revealed. 

An  apparition  from  the  other  hemisphere 
came  upon  her  that  instant.  She  saw  a  man 
standing  by  the  friar's  booth  looking  at  her. 
What  his  eyes  said  she  could  not,  through 
her  shimmering  and  deadly  faintness,  per- 
ceive. How  could  he  be  here  in  Kaskaskia? 
The  shock  of  seeing  him  annihilated  physi- 
cal weakness  in  her.  She  stood  on  limbs  of 
stone.  Her  hand  on  her  brother's  arm  did 
not  tremble ;  but  a  pinched  blueness  spread 
about  her  nostrils  and  eye  sockets,  and 
dinted  sudden  hollows  in  her  temples. 

Dr.  Dunlap  took  a  step  toward  her.  At 
that,  she  looked  around  for  some  place  to 
hide  in,  the  animal  instinct  of  flight  arising 
first,  and  darted  from  her  brother  into  the 
graveyard.  Rice  beheld  this  freak  with 
quizzical  surprise,  but  he  had  noted  the  dis- 
appearance of  more  than  one  maid  through 
that  gate,  and  was  glad  to  have  Maria  with 
them. 


36  "  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  Come  on,"  whispered  Peggy,  seizing 
her.  "  Clarice  Vigo  has  gone  to  fetch  Ange- 
lique,  and  then  we  shall  be  ready." 

Behind  the  church,  speaking  all  together 
like  a  chorus  of  blackbirds,  the  girls  were 
clustered,  out  of  the  bonfire's  light.  French 
and  English  voices  debated. 

"  Oh,  I  woidd  n't  do  such  a  thing." 

"  Your  mother  did  it  when  she  was  a 
girl." 

"  But  the  young  men  may  find  it  out  and 
follow." 

"  Then  we '11  run." 

"  I  'm  afraid  to  go  so  far  in  the  dark." 

"  What,  to  the  old  Jesuit  College  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  very  dark,  and  our  old  Dinah 
will  go  with  us ;  she  's  waiting  outside  the 
fence." 

"  But  my  father  says  none  of  our  Indians 
are  to  be  trusted  in  the  dark." 

"  What  a  slander  on  our  Indians !  " 

"  But  some  of  them  are  here  ;  they  always 
come  to  the  St.  John  bonfire." 

"  All  the  men  in  Kaskaskia  are  here,  too. 
We  could  easily  give  an  alarm." 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOUN.  37 

"  Anyhow,  nothing  will  hurt  us." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  girls  ?  "  in- 
quired the  voice  of  Angelique  Saucier.  The 
whole  scheme  took  a  foolish  tinge  as  she 
spoke.  They  were  ashamed  to  tell  her  what 
they  were  going  to  do. 

Peggy  Morrison  drew  near  and  whispered, 
"  We  want  to  go  to  the  old  Jesuit  College 
and  sow  hempseed." 

"  Hempseed?  " 

"  Yes.     You  do  it  on  Midsummer  Night." 

"  Will  it  grow  the  better  for  that  ?  "  asked 
the  puzzled  French  girl. 

"  We  don't  want  it  to  grow,  you  goose. 
We  want  to  try  our  fortunes." 

"It  was  Peggy  Morrison's  plan,"  spoke 
out  Clarice  Vigo. 

"  It  's  an  old  English  custom,"  declared 
Peggy,  "  as  old  as  burning  brushwood." 

"  Would  you  like  to  observe  this  old  Eng- 
lish custom.  Mademoiselle  Zhone  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Angelique. 

"  Yes,  let  us  hurry  on.'* 

"  I  think  myself  it  would  be  charming." 


38  ■        OLD  KASKASKIA. 

The  instant  Angelique  thought  this,  Peggy 
Morrison's  plan  lost  foolishness,  and  gained 
in  all  eyes  the  dignity  of  adventure.  "  But 
we  have  no  hempseed." 

"  Yes,  we  have,"  responded  Peggy.  "  Our 
Dinah  is  there  outside  the  fence  with  her  lap 
full  of  it." 

"  And  how  do  you  sow  it  ?  " 

"  You  scatter  it  and  say,  '  Hempseed,  I  sow 
thee,  —  hempseed,  I  sow  thee ;  let  him  who 
is  to  marry  me  come  after  me  and  mow 
thee.' " 

An  abashed  titter  ran  through  girlish 
Kaskaskia. 

'*  And  what  happens  then  ?  " 

"  Then  you  look  back  and  see  somebody 
following  you  with  a  scythe." 

A  suppressed  squeal  ran  through  girlish 
Kaskaskia. 

"  Now  if  we  are  going,  we  ought  to  go,  or 
it  will  all  be  found  out,"  observed  Peggy 
with  decision. 

They  had  only  to  follow  the  nearest  cross- 
street  to  reach  the  old  Jesuit  College ;  but 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  39 

some  were  for  making  a  long  detour  into  the 
common  fields  to  avoid  being  seen,  while 
others  were  for  passing  close  by  the  bonfire 
in  a  solid  squad.  Neither  Peggy  nor  An- 
gelique  could  reconcile  these  factions,  and 
Peggy  finally  crossed  the  fence  and  led  the 
way  in  silence.  The  majority  hung  back 
until  they  were  almost  belated.  Then,  with 
a  venturous  rush,  they  scaled  the  fence  and 
piled  themselves  upon  Dinah,  who  was  quietly 
trying  to  deal  out  a  handful  of  hempseed  to 
every  passer  ;  and  some  of  them  squalled  in 
the  fear  of  man  at  her  uplifted  paw.  Then, 
shying  away  from  the  light,  they  entered  a 
street  which  was  like  a  canal  of  shadow. 
The  houses  bounding  it  were  all  dark,  except 
the  steep  roof  slopes  of  the  southern  row, 
which  seemed  to  palpitate  in  the  bonfire's 
flicker. 

Finding  themselves  away  from  their  fami- 
lies in  this  deserted  lane,  the  girls  took  to 
their  heels,  and  left  like  sheep  a  perceptible 
little  cloud  of  dust  smoking  in  the  gloom 
behind  them. 


40  •  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Beyond  the  last  house  and  alongside  the 
Okaw  river  stood  the  ruined  building  with 
gaping  entrances.  The  girls  stumbled  among 
irregular  hummocks  which  in  earlier  days 
had  been  garden  beds  and  had  supplied  vege- 
tables to  the  brethren.  The  last  command- 
ant of  Kaskaskia,  who  occupied  the  Jesuits' 
house  as  a  fortress,  had  complained  to  his 
superiors  of  a  leaky  and  broken  roof.  There 
was  now  no  roof  to  complain  of,  and  the 
upper  floors  had  given  way  in  places,  leav- 
ing the  stone  shell  open  to  the  sky.  It  had 
once  been  an  imposing  structure,  costing  the 
Jesuits  forty  thousand  piasters.  The  uneven 
stone  floor  was  also  broken,  showing  gaps 
into  vaults  beneath ;  fearful  spots  to  be 
avoided,  which  the  custom  of  darkness  soon 
revealed  to  all  eyes.  Partitions  yet  stand- 
ing held  stained  and  ghastly  smears  of  rotted 
plaster. 

The  river's  gurgle  and  rush  could  be  dis- 
tinctly heard  here,  while  the  company  around 
the  bonfire  were  lost  in  distance. 

Angelique   had  given  her  arm  to  Maria 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  41 

Jones  in  the  flight  down  the  road;  but 
when  they  entered  the  college  Maria  slipped 
away  from  her.  A  blacker  spot  in  an  angle 
of  the  walls  and  a  smothered  cough  hinted 
to  the  care-taker  where  the  invalid  girl  might 
be  found,  but  where  she  also  wished  to  be 
let  alone. 

Now  a  sob  rising  to  a  scream,  as  if  the 
old  building  had  found  voice  and  protested 
against  invasion,  caused  a  recoil  of  the  in- 
vaders. Girls  brought  up  in  neighborly 
relations  with  the  wilderness,  however,  could 
be  only  a  moment  terrified  by  the  screech- 
owl.  But  at  no  previous  time  in  its  history, 
not  even  when  it  was  captured  as  a  fort,  had 
the  Jesuit  College  inclosed  such  a  cluster 
of  wildly  beating  hearts.  Had  light  been 
turned  on  the  group,  it  would  have  shown 
every  girl  shaking  her  hand  at  every  other 
girl  and  hissing,  "  S  —  s  —  sh  I  " 

"  Girls,  be  stiU." 

"  Girls,  do  be  stiU." 

"Girls,  if  you  won't  be  still,  somebody 
will  come." 


42  V        OLD  KASKASKIA, 

"  Clarice  Vigo,  why  don't  you  stop  your 
noise?" 

"  Why  do  you  not  stop  yours,  mademoi- 
selle?" 

"I  have  n't  spoken  a  word  but  sh!  I 
have  been  trying  my  best  to  quiet  them  all." 

"  So  have  I." 

"Ellen  Bond  fell  over  me.  She  was 
scared  to  death  by  a  screech-owl !  " 

"  It  was  you  fell  over  me.  Miss  Betsey." 

"  If  we  are  going  to  try  the  charm,"  an- 
nounced Peggy  Morrison,  "  we  must  begin. 
You  had  better  all  get  in  a  line  behind  me 
and  do  just  as  I  do.  You  can't  see  me 
very  well,  but  you  can  scatter  the  hempseed 
and  say  what  I  say.  And  it  must  be  done 
soberly,  or  Satan  may  come  mowing  at  our 
heels." 

From  a  distant  perch  to  which  he  had 
removed  himseK,  the  screech-owl  again  re- 
monstrated. Silence  settled  like  the  slow 
fluttering  downward  of  feathers  on  every 
throbbing  figure.  The  stir  of  a  slipper  on 
the  pavement,  or  the  catching  of  a  breath, 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  43 

became  the  only  tokens  of  human  presence 
in  the  old  college.  These  postulants  of  for- 
tune in  their  half-visible  state  once  more 
bore  some  resemblance  to  the  young  ladies 
who  had  stood  in  decorum  answering  com- 
pliments between  the  figures  of  the  dance 
the  night  before. 

On  cautious  shoe  leather  the  march  began. 
One  voice,  two  voices,  and  finally  a  low 
chorus  intoned  and  repeated,  — 

"  Hempseed,  I  sow  thee,  — hempseed,  I 
sow  thee ;  let  him  who  is  to  marry  me  come 
after  me  and  mow  thee.'* 

Peggy  led  her  followers  out  of  the  east 
door  towards  the  river ;  wheeling  when  she 
reached  a  little  wind-row  of  rotted  timbers. 
This  chaos  had  once  stood  up  in  order,  form- 
ing makeshift  bastions  for  the  fort,  and  sup- 
porting cannon.  Such  boards  and  posts  as 
the  negroes  had  not  carried  off  lay  now  along 
the  river  brink,  and  the  Okaw  was  steadily 
undermining  that  brink  as  it  had  already 
undermined  and  carried  away  the  Jesuits' 
spacious  landing. 


44  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Glancing  over  their  shoulders  with  secret 
laughter  for  that  fearful  gleam  of  scythes 
which  was  to  come,  the  girls  marched  back ; 
and  their  leader's  abrupt  halt  jarred  the 
entire  line.  A  man  stood  in  the  opposite 
entrance.  They  could  not  see  him  in  out- 
line, but  his  unmistakable  hat  showed 
against  a  low-lying  sky. 

"  Who  's  there  ?  "  demanded  Peggy  Mor- 
rison. 

The  intruder  made  no  answer. 

They  could  not  see  a  scythe  about  him, 
but  to  every  girl  he  took  a  different  form. 
He  was  Billy  Edgar,  or  Jules  Vigo,  or  Rice 
Jones,  or  any  other  gallant  of  Kaskaskia, 
according  to  the  varying  faith  which  beating 
hearts  sent  to  the  eyes  that  saw  him. 

The  spell  of  silence  did  not  last.  A  popu- 
lous roost  invaded  by  a  fox  never  resounded 
with  more  squalling  than  did  the  old  Jesuit 
College.  The  girls  swished  around  corners 
and  tumbled  over  the  vegetable  beds.  Ange- 
lique  groped  for  Maria,  not  daring  to  call 
her  name,  and  caught  and  ran  with   some 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  45 

one  until  they  neared  the  light,  when  she 
found  it  was  the  dumpy  little  figure  of  her 
cousin  Clarice. 

As  soon  as  the  girls  were  gone,  the  man 
who  had  broken  up  their  hempseed  sowing 
advanced  a  few  steps  on  the  pavement.  He 
listened,  and  that  darker  shadow  in  the  angle 
of  the  walls  was  perceptible  to  him. 

"  Are  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  here,"  answered  Maria. 

Rice  Jones's  sister  could  not  sit  many 
minutes  in  the  damp  old  building  without 
being  missed  by  the  girls  and  her  family. 
His  voice  trembled.  She  could  hear  his 
heart  beating  with  large  strokes.  His  pres- 
ence surrounded  her  like  an  atmosphere,  and 
in  the  darkness  she  clutched  her  own  breast 
to  keep  the  rapture  from  physically  hurting 
her. 

"  Maria,  did  you  know  that  my  wife  was 
dead?" 

"  Oh,  James,  no !  " 

Her  whisper  was  more  than  a  caress.  It 
was  surrender  and  peace  and  forgiveness.    It 


46  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

was  the  snapping  of  a  tension  which  had 
held  her  two  years. 

"  Oh,  James,  wlien  I  saw  you  to-night  I 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  I  have  not  been 
well.  You  have  borne  it  so  much  better 
than  I  have." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Dr.  Dunlap,  "  it  would 
be  best  for  us  to  talk  matters  over." 

She  caught  her  breath.  What  was  the 
matter  with  this  man  ?  Once  he  had  lain  at 
her  feet  and  kissed  the  hem  of  her  garment. 
He  was  hers.  She  had  never  relinquished 
her  ownership  of  him  even  when  her  honor 
had  constrained  her  to  live  apart  from  him. 
Whose  could  he  be  but  hers  ? 

Dr.  Dunlap  had  thought  twenty-four 
hours  on  what  he  would  say  at  this  unavoid- 
able meeting,  and  he  acknowledged  in  a 
business-like  tone,  — 

"  I  did  not  treat  you  right  Maria.  My 
wretched  entanglement  when  I  was  a  boy 
ruined  everything.  But  when  I  persuaded 
you  into  a  secret  marriage  with  me,  I  meant 
to  make  it  right  when  the  other  one  died. 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  47 

And  you  found  it  out  and  left  nie.  If  I 
treated  you  badly,  you  treated  nie  badly, 
too." 

He  knew  the  long  chin  of  the  Joneses. 
He  could  imagine  Maria  lifting  her  slim 
chin.     She  did  not  speak. 

"  I  came  over  here  to  begin  life  again. 
When  you  ran  off  to  your  friends,  what  was 
there  for  me  to  do  but  take  to  the  navy 
again  or  sail  for  America  ?  Kaskaskia  was 
the  largest  jiost  in  the  West ;  so  I  came  here. 
And  here  I  found  your  family,  that  I  thought 
were  in  another  Territory.  And  from  the 
first  your  brother  has  been  my  enemy." 

His  sulky  complaint  brought  no  response 
in  words  ;  but  a  strangling  sob  broke  all  re- 
straint in  the  angle  of  the  wall. 

"  Maria,"  exclaimed  the  startled  doctor, 
"  don't  do  that.     You  excite  yourself." 

In  her  paroxysm  she  rolled  down  on  the 
stone  floor,  and  he  stooped  in  consternation 
and  picked  her  up.  He  rested  his  foot  on 
the  ledge  where  she  had  sat,  and  held  her 
upon  his  knee.     She   struggled   for  breath 


48  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

until  he  thought  she  would  die,  and  the 
sweat  of  terror  stood  on  his  forehead. 
When  he  had  watched  her  by  the  bonfire, 
his  medical  knowledge  gave  her  barely  two 
months  of  life  ;  and  within  those  two  months, 
he  had  also  told  himself  bitterly  then.  Rice 
Jones  could  marry  Angelique  Saucier  ;  but 
to  have  her  die  alone  with  him  in  this  old 
building  was  what  he  could  not  contemplate. 
Scarcely  conscious  of  his  own  action,  the 
doctor  held  her  in  positions  which  helped 
her,  and  finally  had  the  relief  of  hearing 
her  draw  a  free  breath  as  she  lapsed  against 
his  shoulder.  Even  a  counterfeit  tie  of  mar- 
riage has  its  power.  He  had  lived  with  this 
woman,  she  believing  herself  his  lawful  wife. 
Their  half-year  together  had  been  the  loftiest 
period  of  his  life.  The  old  feeling,  smoth- 
ered as  it  was  under  resentment  and  a  new 
passion,  stirred  in  him.  He  strained  her  to 
his  breast  and  called  her  the  pet  names  he 
used  to  call  her.  The  diminutive  being 
upon  his  knee  heard  them  without  response. 
When  she  could  speak  she  whispered,  — 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  49 

"  Set  me  down." 

Dr.  Dunlap  moved  his  foot  and  placed 
her  again  on  the  stone  ledge.  She  leaned 
against  the  wall.  There  was  a  ringing  in 
her  ears.  The  unpardonable  sin  in  man  is 
not  his  ceasing  to  love  you.  That  may  be  a 
mortal  pain,  but  it  has  dignity.  It  is  the 
fearful  judgment  of  seeing  in  a  flash  that 
you  have  wasted  your  life  on  what  was  not 
worth  the  waste. 

"  Now  if  you  are  composed,  Maria,"  said 
Dr.  Dunlap  hurriedly,  "  I  will  say  what  I 
followed  you  here  to  say.  The  best  thing 
for  us  to  do,  now  that  I  am  free  to  do  it, 
is  to  have  the  marriage  ceremony  repeated 
over  us  and  made  valid.  I  am  ready  and 
willing.  The  only  drawback  is  the  preju- 
dice of  your  family  against  me." 

A  magnanimous  tone  in  his  voice  betrayed 
eagerness  to  put  the  Joneses  under  obliga- 
tions to  him. 

"  Dr.  Dunlap,"  —  when  Maria  had  spoken 
his  name  she  panted  awhile,  —  "when  I 
found  out  I  was  not  your  wife,  and  left  you, 


50  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

1  began  then  ^o  cough.  But  now  —  we  can 
never  be  married." 

"  Why,  Maria  ?  " 

She  began  those  formidable  sounds  again, 
and  he  held  his  breath. 

Somebody  in  the  distance  began  playing 
a  violin.  Its  music  mingled  with  the  sounds 
which  river-inclosed  lands  and  the  adjacent 
dwellings  of  men  send  up  in  a  summer 
night. 

"  You  know,"  said  Maria  when  she  could 
speak,  "Jiow  we  deceived  my  people  in 
Wales  and  in  London.  None  of  my  family 
here  know  anything  about  that  marriage." 

Another  voice  outside  the  walls,  keen 
with  anxiety,  shouted  her  name.  Dr.  Dun- 
lap  hurried  a  few  yards  from  her,  then 
stopped  and  held  his  ground.  A  man 
rushed  into  the  old  building  regardless  of 
the  broken  floor. 

"  Maria,  are  you  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  brother  Rice." 

She  was  leaving  her  corner  to  meet  him. 
The  doctor  coidd  see  that  she  sunk  to  her 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN,  51 

hands  and  knees  with  weakness  and  helped 
herself  up  by  the  wall. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  Is  any  one  with 
you?" 

As  they  met  in  the  darkness  the  brother 
felt  her  hands  and  trembling  figure. 

"  What  possessed  you  to  sit  down  here  in 
this  damp  old  place  ?  You  are  clammy  as 
stone.  Poor  little  thing,  were  you  fright- 
ened ?     What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  talking,"  replied  Maria. 

The  doctor's  heart  labored  like  a  drum. 
Perhaps  she  would  tell  it  all  out  to  Rice 
Jones  now. 

The  same  acrid  restraint  may  be  heard  in 
a  mother's  voice  when  she  inquires,  as  Rice 
did, — 

"  Who  was  talking  with  you  ?  " 

"Dr.  Dunlap." 

"  Dr.  Dunlap  ?  You  don't  know  Dr. 
Dunlap." 

"  We  met  in  England,"  daringly  broke 
out  Dr.  Dunlap  himself. 

"  He  is  here  yet,  is  he  ?  "  said  Rice  Jones. 


52  '  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"Doctors  are  supposed  to  be  the  natural 
protectors  of  ailing  women ;  but  here  's  one 
that  is  helping  a  sick  girl  to  take  her 
death  cold." 

An  attack  on  his  professional  side  was 
what  Dr.  Dunlap  was  not  prepared  for.  He 
had  nothing  to  say,  and  Maria's  brother  car- 
ried her  out  of  the  old  college  and  took  the 
nearest  way  home. 

Noise  was  ceasing  around  the  sinking  bon- 
fire, a  clatter  of  wooden  shoes  setting  home- 
ward along  the  streets  of  Kaskaskia.  Maria 
saw  the  stars  stretching  their  great  network 
downward  enmeshing  the  Mississippi.  That 
nightly  vision  is  wonderful.  But  what  are 
outward  wonders  compared  to  the  unseen 
spiritual  chemistry  always  at  work  within 
and  around  us,  changing  our  loves  and  be- 
liefs and  needs  ? 

Rice  stopped  to  rest  as  soon  as  they  were 
out  of  Dr.  Dunlap's  hearing.  Light  as  she 
was,  he  felt  his  sister's  complete  prostration 
in  her  weight. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Maria,"  he  said  to  her 


THE  BONFIRE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  53 

in  Welsh,  — "  is  that  fellow  anything  to 
you?"  , 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  But  he  says  he  met  you  in  England." 

She  said  nothing,  and  Kice  also  remained 
in  silence.  When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  in 
the  tone  of  dry  statement  which  he  used  for 
presenting  cases  in  court. 

"  My  pistols  have  hair  triggers  and  go  off 
at  a  touch.  I  had  a  political  difference  with 
a  gentleman  some  time  ago,  and  this  Dr. 
Dunlap  acted  as  his  second.  We  were 
standing  ready,  but  before  the  word  was 
given,  and  while  the  pistol  hung  down  in  my 
hand,  it  went  off,  and  the  ball  struck  the 
ground  at  my  feet.  Then  Dr.  Dunlap  in- 
sisted I  had  had  my  shot,  and  must  stand 
still  and  be  fired  at  without  firing  again. 
His  anxiety  to  have  me  shot  was  so  plain 
that  my  opponent  refused  to  fire,  and  we 
made  up  our  difference.  That's  the  Dr. 
Dunlap  we  have  here  in  the  Territory,  what- 
ever he  may  have  been  in  England." 

Rice  hurried  on  with  her,  his  motherless 


54  '         OLD  KASKASKIA. 

little  sister,  who  had  been  left  with  kins- 
people  in  Wales  because  she  was  too  deli- 
cate to  bear  the  hardships  of  the  family- 
transplanting.  He  blamed  himself  for  her 
exposure  and  prostration,  and  held  her  ten- 
derly, whispering,  — 

"  Mareea-bach ! " 

She  tried  to  answer  the  Welsh  caressing 
name,  but  her  throat  gurgled  and  a  warm 
stream  ran  out  of  her  mouth,  and  he  knew 
it  was  blood. 


PART  SECOND. 

A  FIELD   DAY. 

The  gallery  pillars  of  the  Sauciers'  house 
hung  full  of  fragrant  vines.  The  double 
doors  stood  hospitably  wide,  but  no  one  was 
visible  through  the  extent  of  hall,  though 
the  sound  of  harp  music  filled  it,  coming 
from  a  large  darkened  room.  Angelique 
was  playing  for  her  great-grand-aunt  An- 
gelique, the  despot  of  the  Saucier  family. 

This  survivor  of  a  past  century  had  her 
treasures  displayed  and  her  throne  set  up 
in  the  state  apartment  of  the  house.  The 
Sauciers  contented  themselves  with  a  smaller 
drawing-room  across  the  hall.  Her  throne 
was  a  vast  valanced,  canopied,  gilded  bed, 
decorated  with  down  sacks  in  chintz  covers 
to  keep  her  warm,  high  pillows  set  up  as  a 
background  for  her,  and  a  little  pillow  for 


56  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

every  bone  which  might  make  a  dint  in  the 
feather  bed.  Another  such  piece  of  furni- 
ture was  not  to  be  found  in  the  Territory. 
It  and  her  ebony  chairs,  her  claw -footed 
tables,  her  harp  and  dower  chest,  had  come 
with  her  from  France.  The  harp  alone  she 
had  already  given  to  Angelique,  who  was  to 
inherit  all  she  owned. 

From  childhood  the  girl  had  been  this 
aged  woman's  constant  attendant.  Some 
days  the  black  servants  took  their  orders  at 
the  door,  and  nobody  but  Angelique  was 
allowed  to  enter  that  room.  Then  the  tyrant 
would  unbend,  and  receive  family  and  neigh- 
borhood visits.  Though  she  had  lived  a 
spinster's  life,  she  herself  taught  Angelique 
to  call  her  "  tante-gra'mere,"  and  this  absurd 
mixture  of  names  had  been  taken  up  by  the 
entire  family.  So  tight  a  grip  did  she  hold 
on  the  growing  child  that  Angelique  was 
educated  by  half -days  at  the  convent;  she 
never  had  an  entire  day  free  from  tante-gra'- 
mere.  Madame  Saucier  often  rose  against 
such  absorption,  and  craved  the  privilege  of 
taking  the  girl's  place. 


A  FIELD   DAY.  57 

"  There  is  a  fete  of  the  children  on  the 
bluffs  to-day,"  madame  would  plead ;  or, 
"  There  is  a  religious  procession,  and  the 
mother  superior  has  particularly  sent  for 
Angelique." 

But  tante-ffra'mere  lifted  her  tliin  shout 
against  every  plea,  and,  if  pushed,  would 
throw  the  little  pillows  at  her  grand-neph- 
ew's wife.  What  were  fetes  and  processions 
to  her  claims  ? 

"  I  am  the  godmother  of  this  child,"  she 
declared ;  "  it  is  for  me  to  say  what  she 
shall  do." 

The  patriarch  of  a  French  family  was 
held  in  such  veneration  that  it  was  little  less 
than  a  crime  to  cross  her.  The  thralldom 
did  not  ruin  Angelique's  health,  though  it 
grew  heavier  with  her  years  •  but  it  made 
her  old  in  patient  endurance  and  sympa- 
thetic insight  while  she  was  a  child.  She  sat 
pitying  and  excusing  her  elder's  whims  when 
she  should  have  been  playing.  The  oldest 
story  in  humanity  is  the  story  of  the  house 
tyrant,  —  that  usurper   often  so  physically 


i$  OLD  KASEASKIA. 

weak  that  we  can  carry  him  in  our  arms, 
yet  so  strong  that  he  can  tumble  down  the 
pillars  of  family  peace  many  times  a  day. 

There  was  something  monkey-like  in  the 
tempers  of  tante-gra'mere.  To  see  her  grasp 
her  whip  and  beat  her  slaves  with  a  good 
will,  but  poor  execution,  was  to  smile  self- 
reproachf  uUy  as  at  the  antics  of  a  sick  child. 
Though  it  is  true,  for  a  woman  who  had  no 
use  of  her  legs,  she  displayed  astonishing 
reach  in  her  arms.  Her  face  was  a  mass  of 
puckers  burnt  through  by  coal-black  eyes. 
Her  mouth  was  so  tucked  and  folded  inward 
that  she  appeared  to  have  swallowed  her 
lips.  In  the  daytime  she  wore  a  black  silk 
cap  tied  under  the  chin,  and  a  dimity  short 
gown  over  a  quilted  petticoat.  Tante-gra'- 
mere was  rich  in  stored  finery.  She  had  in- 
herited brocades,  and  dozen  dozens  of  linen, 
including  sheets  and  napkins.  Her  things 
were  washed  by  themselves  and  bleached  on 
their  own  green,  where  the  family  washing 
never  dared  intrude. 

Fortunately    for   Angelique,   tante-gra'- 


A  FIELD  DAY.  69 

mSre's  hours  were  early,  and  she  slept  as 
aged  people  seldom  do.  At  sunset,  summer 
or  winter,  she  had  herself  promptly  done  up 
in  linen,  the  whip  placed  near  her  hand,  and 
her  black  woman's  bed  made  within  reach 
on  the  floor.  She  then  went  into  a  shell  of 
sleep  which  dancing-parties  in  the  house  had 
not  broken,  and  required  no  further  atten- 
tion until  the  birds  stirred  in  the  morning. 
Angelique  rushed  out  to  evening  freedom 
with  a  zest  which  became  rapture  when  she 
danced.  Perhaps  this  fresh  delight  made 
her  the  best  dancer  in  Kaskaskia. 

The  autocrat  loved  to  compound  her  own 
dinners.  She  had  a  salver  which  Angelique 
placed  before  her  on  the  bed ;  and  the  old 
child  played  in  pastry  or  salads,  or  cut  vege- 
table dice  for  her  soup.  The  baking  or 
boiling  or  roasting  was  done  with  rigor  at 
her  own  fireplace  by  her  blacks,  the  whip- 
lash in  her  hand  hovering  over  their  bare 
spots.  Silence  was  the  law  of  the  presence- 
chamber  when  she  labored  with  her  recipes, 
of  which  she  had  many,  looking  like  spider 


60  ■         OLD  K  ASK  A  SKI  A. 

tracks  on  very  yellow  paper.  These  she 
kept  locked  ui)  with  many  of  the  ingredients 
for  creating  them.  She  pored  over  them 
with  unspectacled  eyes  whenever  she  mixed 
a  cunning  dish  ;  and  even  Angcliqne  dared 
not  meddle  with  them,  though  they  were  to 
he  part  of  the  girl's  inheritance. 

Angcliqne  now  played  on  the  harp  to 
soothe  tante-gra'mere's  digestion  after  her 
midday  dinner,  while  outdoors  all  Kaskas- 
kia  buzzed  with  excitement.  It  was  a  field 
day  in  territorial  politics.  All  the  girls 
were  at  Peggy  Morrison's  house,  watching 
the  processions  march  by,  and  making 
bouquets  to  send  up  to  the  speakers,  of  whom 
Rice  Jones  was  chief.  Tante-gra'mere  had 
her  heavy  green  shutters  closed,  to  keep  out 
disturbing  sights  and  the  noise  of  fife  and 
drum.  Her  eyes  snapped  in  the  gloom.  It 
was  a  warm  day,  and  the  large  apartment 
looked  like  a  linen  bazaar,  so  many  gar- 
ments had  tante-gra'mdre  di^*  warded  on 
account  of  the  heat,  and  hung  about  her. 
The   display  made   Angelique's   face  burn 


A  FIELD  VAY.  61 

when  Colonel  Menard  was  announced ;  but 
it  was  one  of  tante-gra'niere's  unshakable 
beliefs  that  her  linen  was  so  8ui)erior  to 
other  people's  its  exposure  was  a  favor  to 
the  public.  Any  attempt  to  fold  it  away 
would  put  her  into  a  fury. 

The  colonel  had  his  hat  and  riding-whip 
in  his  hand.  He  stood  smiling  at  both  the 
aged  woman  and  the  girl,  with  his  compre- 
hensive grasp  of  all  individualities.  The 
slave  woman  placed  a  chair  for  him  between 
the  bed  and  the  harp.  Angelique  loved  the 
harp ;  but  she  was  glad  to  let  her  hands 
fall  in  her  lap,  and  leave  Colonel  Menard 
to  work  good  nature  in  her  tante-gra'mere. 
The  autocrat  tolerated  him  with  as  much 
liking  as  she  could  give  to  any  suitor  of 
Angelique's.  The  intentions  of  the  others 
were  discovered  only  through  slaves  used  as 
spies  ;  but  he  came  into  her  state  apartment 
and  showed  her  consideration.  She  sat  up 
on  her  broad  throne,  against  the  background 
of  pillows,  and  received  his  salute  upon  her 
hand.  Afterwards  he  bowed  over  Ange- 
lique's  fingers.  "  "  ~ 


62  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  I  hope  the  seven  chiklren  of  monsieur 
the  colonel  are  well,"  said  tante-gra'm^re  in 
her  tiny  scream. 

"Four,  madame,"  corrected  the  visitor. 
"  Thanks,  they  are  very  well." 

They  spoke  in  French,  for  although  she 
understood  English  she  never  condescended 
to  use  it.  Their  conference  begun  each  time 
by  her  inquiry  after  his  seven  children. 

"  And  madame,  I  hope  she  is  comfortable 
to-day?" 

"  I  neither  sleep  nor  eat,"  declared  tante- 
gra'mere.  "  And  with  the  streets  full  of 
a  shouting  rabble,  there  is  no  comfort  to  be 
had  in  Kaskaskia." 

"We  are  rather  noisy  to-day.  But  we 
are  very  earnest  in  this  matter.  We  want 
to  be  separated  from  the  Indiana  Territory 
and  be  made  an  independent  State." 

Tante-gra'mere  caught  up  her  whip,  and 
cracked  it  so  suddenly  on  the  back  of  her 
little  page,  who  was  prying  into  a  wall  closet, 
that  he  leaped  like  a  frog,  and  fell  on  all 
fours  at  the  opposite  corner  of  the  hearth. 


A  FIELD  DAY.  63 

His  grandmother,  the  bhick  woman,  put  him 
behind  her,  and  looked  steadily  at  their 
tyrant.  She  sat  on  the  floor  like  an  Indian ; 
and  she  was  by  no  means  a  soft,  full-blooded 
African.  High  cheek-bones  and  lank  coarse 
hair  betrayed  the  half-bi-eed.  Untamed  and 
reticent,  without  the  drollery  of  the  black 
race,  she  had  even  a  Pottawatomie  name, 
Watch-e-kee,  which  French  usage  shortened 
to  Wachique. 

Tante-gra'mere  put  this  sullen  slave  in 
motion  and  made  her  bring  a  glass  of  wine 
for  Colonel  Menard.  The  colonel  was  too 
politic  to  talk  to  Angelique  before  her  elder, 
though  she  had  not  yet  answered  his  pro- 
posal. He  had  offered  himself  through  her 
father,  and  granted  her  all  the  time  she 
could  require  for  making  \ip  her  mind.  The 
colonel  knew  of  her  sudden  decisions  against 
so  many  Kaskaskians  that  he  particularly 
asked  her  to  take  time.  Two  dimpling 
grooves  were  cut  in  his  cheeks  by  the  smile 
which  hovered  there,  as  he  rose  to  drink  the 
godmother's  health,  and  she  said,  — 


64  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  Angclique,  you  may  leave  the  room." 

Angclique  left  the  room,  and  he  drew  his 
chair  toward  the  autocrat  for  the  conference 
she  expected. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  madame,"  said 
Colonel  Menard,  "  to  give  me  this  chance  of 
speaking  to  you  alone." 

"I  do  so,  monsieur  the  colonel,  because  I 
myself  have  something  to  say."  The  little 
elfin  voice  disregarded  Wachique  and  the 
page.  They  were  part  of  the  furniture  of 
the  room,  and  did  not  count  as  listeners. 

"  You  understand  that  I  wish  to  propose 
for  mademoiselle  ?  " 

Tante-gra'mere  nodded.  "  I  understand 
that  you  are  a  man  who  will  make  a  con- 
tract and  conduct  his  marriage  properly; 
while  these  Welsh  and  English,  they  lean 
over  a  gallery  rail  and  whisper,  and  I  am 
told  they  even  come  fiddling  under  the  win- 
dows after  decent  people  are  asleep." 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  you  on  my  side, 
madame." 

"  I  am  not  on  your  side,  monsieur.     I  am 


A  FIELD  DAY.  65 

on  nobody's  side.  And  Angelique  is  on 
nobody's  side.  Angelique  favors  no  suitor. 
She  is  like  me  :  she  would  live  a  single  life 
to  the  end  of  her  days,  as  holy  as  a  nun, 
with  never  a  thought  of  courtship  and  wed- 
dings, but  I  have  set  my  face  against  such 
a  life  for  her.  I  have  seen  the  folly  of  it. 
Here  am  I,  a  poor  old  helpless  woman,  liv- 
ing without  respect  or  consideration,  when 
I  ought  to  be  looked  up  to  in  the  Terri- 
tory." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  madame.  Your 
name  is  always  mentioned  with  veneration." 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  sons  crowding  your  peltry 
traffic  and  taking  their  share  of  these  rich 
lands,  then  you  would  truly  see  m )  vener- 
ated. I  have  thought  of  these  things  many 
a  day  ;  and  I  am  not  going  to  let  Angelique 
escape  a  husband,  however  such  creatures 
may  try  a  woman's  religious  nature." 

"  I  will  make  myself  as  light  a  trial  as 
possible,"  suggested  Colonel  Menard. 

"  You  have  had  one  wife." 

"  Yes,  madame." 


66  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  But  she  died."  The  tiny  high  voice 
had  the  thrust  of  an  insect's  stinger. 

"  If  she  were  alive,  madame,  I  coidd  not 
now  have  the  honor  of  asking  for  Made- 
moiselle Angelique's  hand." 

The  dimpling  grooves  in  his  cheeks  did 
not  escape  tante-gra'mere's  black  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  like  widowers,"  she  mused. 

*'  Nor  do  I,"  responded  the  colonel. 

"  Poor  Therese  might  have  been  alive  to- 
day, if  she  had  not  married  you." 

"  Possibly,  madame." 

"  And  you  have  seven  children  ?  " 

"Four,  madame." 

"  On  the  whole,  I  like  young  men." 

"  Then  you  reject  my  suit  ?  "  observed 
the  unmoved  wooer. 

"  I  do  not  reject  it,  and  I  do  not  accept 
it,  monsieur  the  colonel.     I  consider  it." 

This  gracious  promise  of  neutrality 
Colonel  Menard  carried  away  with  him 
without  again  seeing  Angelique ;  and  he 
made  his  way  through  the  streets  of  Kas- 
kaskia,  unconscious  that  his  little  son  was 


A  FIELD  DAY.  67 

following  Rice  Jones  about  with  the  invin- 
cible persistence  of  a  Menard. 

Young  Pierre  had  been  allowed  to  ride 
into  the  capital  this  thronging  day  under 
charge  of  his  father's  body-servant  and  Jean 
Lozier.  The  body-servant  he  sent  out  of  his 
way  with  the  ponies.  Jean  Lozier  tramped 
at  his  young  seignior's  heels,  glad  of  some 
duty  which  would  excuse  him  to  his  con- 
science. 

This  was  the  peasant  lad's  first  taste  of 
Kaskaskia.  He  could  hardly  believe  he  was 
there.  The  rapture  of  it  at  fu'st  shook  him 
like  a  palsy.  He  had  risen  while  the  whole 
peninsula  was  yet  a  network  of  dew,  and 
the  Mississippi's  sheet,  reflecting  the  dawn, 
threw  silver  in  his  eyes.  All  thoughts  of  his 
grandfather  he  put  resolutely  out  of  his 
mind  ;  and  such  thoughts  troubled  him  little, 
indeed,  while  that  sea  of  humanity  dashed 
around  him.  The  crash  of  martial  music 
stirred  the  man  in  him.  And  when  he  saw 
the  governor's  carriage  and  the  magnates  of 
the  Territory,  heading  the  long  procession ; 


68  OLD  KASKASEIA. 

the  festooned  galleries,  on  which  sat  girls 
dressed  in  white,  like  angels,  sending  their 
slaves  out  with  baskets  of  flowers  to  strew 
in  the  way  ;  when  he  saw  floating  tableaux 
of  men  and  scenes  in  the  early  history  of 
the  Territory,  —  heroes  whose  exploits  he 
knew  by  heart ;  and  when  he  heard  the 
shouting  which  seemed  to  fill  the  rivers  from 
bluff  to  bluff,  he  was  willing  to  wade  through 
purgatory  to  pay  for  such  a  day. 

Traffic  moved  with  unusual  force.  It  was 
the  custom  for  outdwelling  men  who  had 
something  to  sell  or  to  trade  to  reserve  it 
until  they  came  to  a  convention  in  Kasky, 
when  they  were  certain  to  meet  the  best 
buyers.  All  the  up-river  towns  sent  lines 
of  vehicles  and  fleets  of  boats  to  the  capital. 
Kickapoo,  Pottawatomie,  and  Kaskaskia  In- 
dians were  there  to  see  the  white-man  coun- 
cil, scattered  immovably  along  the  streets, 
their  copper  faces  glistening  in  the  sun,  the 
buckskin  fringes  on  their  leggins  scarcely 
stirring  as  the  hours  crept  by.  Squaws 
stood  in  the  full  heat,  erect  and  silent,  in 


A  FIELD  DAY.  69 

yellow  or  dark  red  garments  woven  of  silky 
buffalo  wool,  and  seamed  with  roebuck  sin- 
ews. Few  of  them  had  taken  to  civilized 
finery.  Their  barbaric  and  simple  splendor 
was  a  rebuke  to  poor  white  women. 

Many  ease-loving  old  Frenchmen  denied 
themselves  the  pleasure  of  following  the 
day's  pageant  from  point  to  point,  and  chose 
the  best  of  the  vacant  seats  fronting  the 
empty  platform  in  the  common  meadow. 
There  they  waited  for  speech  -  making  to 
begin,  smoking  New  Orleans  tobacco,  and 
stretching  their  wooden-shod  feet  in  front 
of  them.  No  kind  of  covering  intervened 
betwixt  their  gray  heads  and  the  sky's 
fierce  light,  which  made  the  rivers  seem  to 
wrinkle  with  fire.  An  old  Frenchman  loved 
to  feel  heaven's  hand  laid  on  his  hair. 
Sometimes  they  spoke  to  one  another ;  but 
the  most  of  each  man's  soul  was  given  to 
basking.  Their  attitudes  said :  "  This  is 
as  far  as  I  have  lived.  I  am  not  living  to- 
morrow or  next  day.  The  past  has  reached 
this   instant  as  high-water  mark,  and  here 


70  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

I  rest.     Move  me  if  you  can.     I  have  ar- 
rived." 

Booths  were  set  up  along  the  route  to  the 
common  meadow,  where  the  thirsty  and 
hungry  might  find  food  and  drink  ;  and  as 
the  crowd  surged  toward  its  destination,  a 
babel  of  cries  rose  from  the  venders  of  these 
wares.  Father  Baby  was  as  great  a  huck- 
ster as  any  fiatboat  man  of  them  all.  He 
outscreamed  and  outsweated  Spaniards  from 
Ste.  Genevieve ;  and  a  sorry  si)ectacle  was 
he  to  Father  Olivier  when  a  Protestant  cir- 
cuit-rider jDointed  him  out.  The  itinerant 
had  come  to  preach  at  early  candle-lighting 
to  the  crowd  of  sinners  which  this  occasion 
drew  to  Kaskaskia.  There  was  a  flourish- 
ing chapel  where  this  good  preacher  was 
esteemed,  and  his  infrequent  messages  were 
gladly  accepted.  He  hated  Romish  prac- 
tices, especially  the  Sunday  dancing  after 
mass,  which  Father  Olivier  allowed  his 
humbler  parishioners  to  indulge  in.  They 
were  such  children.  When  their  week's 
work  was  over  and  their  prayers  were  said, 


A  FIELD  DAY.  71 

they  could  scarcely  refrain  from  kicking  up 
their  heels  to  the  sound  of  a  fiddle. 

But  when  the  preacher  saw  a  friar  ped- 
dling spirits,  he  determined  to  denounce 
Kaskaskia  as  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  around 
his  whole  circuit  in  the  American  bottom 
lands.  While  the  fire  burned  in  him  he 
encountered  Father  Olivier,  who  despised 
him  as  a  heretic,  and  respected  him  as  a 
man.  Each  revered  the  honest  faith  that 
was  in  the  other,  though  they  thought  it 
their  duty  to  quarrel.    . 

"  My  friend,"  exclaimed  the  preacher, 
"  do  you  believe  you  are  going  in  and  out 
before  this  people  in  a  God-fearing  man- 
ner, when  your  colleague  is  yonder  selling 
liquor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  only  poor  half -crazy  Father 
Baby.  He  has  no  right  even  to  the  capote 
he  wears.     Nobody  minds  him  here." 

"  He  ought  to  be  brought  to  his  knees  and 
soundly  converted,"  declared  the  evangelist. 

"  He  is  on  his  knees  half  the  time  now," 
said  Father  Olivier  mischievously.     "  He  's 


72  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

religious  enough,  but,  like  you  heretics,  he 
perverts  the  truth  to  suit  himself." 

The  preacher  laughed.  He  was  an  un- 
learned man,  but  he  had  the  great  heart  of 
an  apostle,  and  was  open  to  jokes. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  riding  the  wilder- 
ness for  the  pleasure  of  perverting  the 
truth?" 

"  My  friend,"  returned  Father  Olivier, 
"  you  have  been  in  our  sacristy,  and  seen 
our  parish  records  kept  here  by  the  hands  of 
priests  for  a  hundred  years.  You  want  to 
make  what  you  call  revivals  ;  I  am  content 
with  survivals,  with  keeping  alive  the  faith. 
Yet  you  think  I  am  the  devil.  As  for  me, 
I  do  not  say  all  heretics  ought  to  be  burned." 

The  preacher  laughed  again  with  Father 
Olivier,  but  did  not  fail  to  add,  — 

"  You  say  what  I  think  better  than  I  could 
say  it  myself." 

The  priest  left  his  Protestant  brother  with 
a  wave  of  the  hand  and  a  smiling  shrug,  and 
passed  on  his  way  along  the  array  of  booths. 
His  presence  was  a  check  on  many  a  rustic 


A  FIELD  DAY.  73 

drinker.  His  glance,  tlroi)ped  here  and 
there,  saved  more  than  one  sheep  from 
the  shearer.  But  his  own  face  fell,  and 
he  stopped  in  astonishment,  when  an  awk- 
ward figure  was  pushed  against  him,  and 
he  recognized  his  u})land  lamb. 

"  Jean  Lozier,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 
said  Father  Olivier. 

Jean  had  dodged  him  many  times.  The 
lad  stood  still,  cap  in  hand,  looking  down. 
Nothing  could  make  him  sorry  he  had  come 
to  Kaskaskia ;  but  he  expected  to  do  pen- 
ance for  it. 

"  Where  is  your  grandfather  ?  '* 

"  He  is  at  home,  father." 

"  Did  you  leave  that  blind  old  man  alone, 
to  wander  out  and  fall  over  the  bluff  ?  " 

"  I  left  him,  father,  but  I  tied  him  to  a 
joist  in  the  ceiling  with  a  long  rope." 

"  To  hang  himself  ?  " 

"  No,  father  ;  it  is  a  very  long  rope." 

"  And  what  will  the  old  man  do  when  he 
grows  hungry  ?  " 

"  His  food  for  the  day  is  on  the  table." 

"  My  son,  my  son  !  " 


74  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"Fiither,"  exclaimed  the  Loy  with  pas- 
sion, '"  I  was  never  in  Kaskaskia  before. 
And  Colonel  Menard  lent  nie  a  pony  to 
ride  after  my  young*  master.  I  have  no 
pleasure  but  watehing  the  lights  of  the  town 
at  night."  The  great  fellow  began  to  sob. 
"  If  my  grandfather  would  but  eonie  here,  I 
could  keep  him  well.  I  have  been  watching 
how  they  do  things  in  Kaskaskia.  But  no, 
he  will  stay  on  the  hills.  And  when  I  could 
stand  it  no  more  I  tied  him  and  came." 

Father  Olivier  had  looked  into  the  eyes 
of  soldiers  and  seen  the  sick  longing  for 
some  particular  place  which  neither  courage 
nor  resolution  seems  able  to  control.  He 
saw  even  more  than  this  in  Jean  Lozier's 
eyes.  He  saw  the  anguish  of  a  creature 
about  to  be  driven  back  from  its  element  to 
another  in  which  it  cannot  develop.  The 
priest  had  hitherto  used  Jean's  fondness  for 
the  capital  as  means  of  moral  discipline. 
But  the  sympathy  which  gave  so  many 
simple  natures  into  his  literal  keeping  en- 
lightened him  now. 


A  FIELD  DAY.  75 

**  My  son,"  said  Futlier  Olivier,  "  I  see 
liow  it  is  with  you  better  than  I  ever  did 
before.  You  shall  come  and  live  in  Kas- 
kaskia.  I  will  myself  forbid  your  grand- 
father to  keep  you  longer  on  the  hills." 

'*But,  father,  he  says  he  will  die  in  a 
great  town." 

"  Then,  my  son,  the  crown  of  a  little  mar- 
tyrdom is  yours.  Will  you  wear  it  until 
this  old  man  ends  his  days,  and  then  come 
to  Kaskaskia  as  your  reward?  Or  will 
you  come  trampling  down  your  duty,  and 
perhaps  shortening  the  life  of  your  father's 
father  ?  I  will  not  lay  any  penance  on  you 
for  following  this  strong  desire." 

Jean's  spirit  moved  through  his  rough 
features,  and  responded  to  the  priest's 
touch. 

"  I  will  wait,  father,"  he  said. 

"  You  do  right,  my  son.  Now  enjoy  the 
remainder  of  this  day,  but  do  not  make  it 
too  long  a  trial  to  the  old  man  dependent 
on  you." 

Jean   Lozier   knew  very  little  about  the 


76  OLD  KASEASEIA, 

fierce  partisan  war  raging  in  the  Territory 
over  separation  and  non-separation,  and  all 
the  consequences  which  lay  beyond  either. 
But  he  took  his  place  in  a  sea  of  listeners, 
having  a  man's  object  in  life  to  struggle  for. 
He  was  going  to  live  in  Kaskaskia,  and  have 
a  little  house  of  his  own,  a  cart  and  two 
oxen ;  and  when  he  had  made  enough  by 
hauling  bales  from  the  wharf,  he  could  set 
up  in  trade.  His  breast  lifted  and  fell 
freely  as  he  looked  into  this  large  and  pos- 
sible future.  The  patience  and  frugality 
and  self-confidence  of  the  successful  man  of 
affairs  were  born  in  him. 

Rice  Jones  was  on  the  speaker's  platform, 
moulding  the  politics  of  the  Territory.  His 
voice  reached  over  the  great  outdoor  audi- 
ence, compelling  and  convincing  i  now  sink- 
ing to  penetrating  undertones,  and  now 
rising  in  thrilling  music.  His  irony  was  so 
cutting,  his  humor  so  irrepressible.  Laugh- 
ter ran  in  waves  across  the  sea  of  heads  as 
wind  runs  across  the  grass.  On  many  a 
homeward  road  and  in  many  a  cabin  would 


A  FIELD  DAY.  77 

these  issues  be  fought  over  before  election 
clay,  and  Rice  Jones's  arguments  quoted  and 
propagated  to  the  territorial  limits.  The 
serious  long-jawed  Virginia  settler  and  the 
easy  light-minded  French  boatman  listened 
side  by  side.  One  had  a  homestead  at  stake, 
and  the  other  had  his  possessions  in  the 
common  fields  where  he  labored  as  little  as 
possible ;  but  both  were  with  Rice  Jones  in 
that  political  sympathy  which  bands  imlike 
men  together.  He  could  say  in  bright 
words  what  they  nebulously  thought.  He 
was  the  high  development  of  themselves. 
They  were  proud  of  him,  with  that  touching- 
hero  worship  which  is  the  tribute  of  unlet- 
tered men  to  those  who  represent  their  best. 
Dr.  Dunlap  stopped  an  instant  at  the  edge 
of  the  crowd,  carrying  his  saddle-bags  on 
his  arm.  He  was  so  well  known  to  be  Rice 
Jones's  political  and  personal  enemy  that  his 
momentary  lingering  there  drew  a  joke  or 
two  from  his  observers.  He  was  exhorted 
to  notice  how  the  speaker  could  wipe  up 
Kasky  with   such   as   he,  and  he  replied  in 


78  '  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

kind.  But  his  face  was  wearing  thin  in  his 
'  deeper  and  silent  struggle  with  Kice  Jones. 
He  knew  that  that  judicial  mind  was  fath- 
oming and  understanding  his  past  relations 
with  Maria  upon  the  evidence  he  had  him- 
self furnished.  Every  day  since  their  en- 
counter in  the  college  the  doctor  had  armed 
himself.  If  he  saw  llice  Jones  appear  sud- 
denly on  the  street,  his  hand  sought  his 
pocket.  Sometimes  he  thought  of  leaving 
the  Territory  ;  which  would  Ixs  giving  up  the 
world  and  branding  himself  a  coward.  The 
sick  girl  was  forgotten  in  this  nightmare  of 
a  personal  encounter.  As  a  physician,  he 
knew  the  danger  of  mania,  and  prescribed 
hard  labor  to  counteract  it.  Dismounting 
under  the  bluff  and  tying  his  horse,  he  had 
many  times  toiled  and  sweated  up  the  ascent, 
and  let  himself  down  again,  bruised  and 
scratched  by  stones  and  briers. 

Very  trivijd  in  Dr.  Dunlap's  eyes  were  the 
anxieties  of  some  i)()or  fellows  whom  he  saw 
later  in  the  day  ai)pealing  to  Colonel  Me- 
nard.  The  doctor  was  returning  to  a  patient. 


.1   FIELD  DAY.  79 

The  speeches  wore  over,  and  the  comiiion 
meadow  had  Ixjcome  a  wide  pi(;nie  ground 
under  the  .sLint  of  a  low  afternoon  sun. 
Those  outdvvellhig  settlers,  who  had  other 
business  to  transact  besides  storing  political 
opinions,  now  Ix^gan  to  stir  themselves  ;  and 
a  dozen  needy  men  drew  tog(;ther  and  en- 
couraged one  another  to  ask  Colonel  Menard 
for  salt.  They  were  oblig(Kl  to  have  salt  at 
once,  and  he  was  the  only  gr(?at  trader  who 
brought  it  in  by  the  flatboat  load  and  kept 
it  stored.  lie  had  a  covered  l)ox  In  his  (;ellar 
as  large  as  one  of  their  (lablns,  and  It  was 
always  kept  filled  with  cuhmI  meats. 

They  stood  with  hands  In  their  pockets 
and  coonskin  caps  slou(;hing  over  their  brows, 
stating  the  case  to  Colonel  Menard.  But 
poverty  has  many  grades.  The  quizzical 
Frenchman  detected  in  some  of  his  clients  a 
moneyed  ability  which  raised  them  above 
their  fellows. 

"  I  have  salt,"  admitted  the  colonel, 
speaking  English  to  men  who  did  not  un- 
derstand French,  "but  I  have  not  enough 


80  OLD  KA  SKA  SKI  A. 

to  make  brine  of  de  Okaw  river.  I  bet  you 
ten  clollaire  you  have  not  money  in  your 
pockets  to  pay  for  it." 

More  than  half  the  pockets  owned  this 
fact.  One  man  promised  to  pay  when  he 
killed  his  hogs.  Another  was  sure  he  could 
settle  by  election  day.  But  the  colonel  cut 
these  promises  short. 

"  I  will  settle  this  matter.  De  goats  that 
have  no  money  will  stand  on  this  side,  and 
de  sheep  that  have  money  will  stand  on 
that." 

The  hopeless  majority  budged  to  his  right 
hand,  and  the  confident  ones  to  his  left.  He 
knew  well  what  comfort  or  misery  hung  on 
his  answer,  and  said  with  decision  which  no 
one  could  turn  :  — 

"  Now,  messieurs,  I  am  going  to  lend  all 
my  salt  to  these  poor  men  who  cannot  get 
it  any  other  way.  You  fellows  who  have 
money  in  your  pockets,  you  may  go  to  Sa' 
Loui',  by  gar,  and  buy  yourselves  some." 

The  peninsula  of  Kaskaskia  was  glorified 
by   sunset,   and   even   having   its    emerald 


A  FIELD  DAY.  81 

stretches  purpled  by  the  evening  shadows 
of  the  hills,  before  Rice  Jones  could  go 
home  to  his  sister.  The  hundreds  throng- 
ing him  all  day  and  hurrahing  at  his  mer- 
ciless wit  saw  none  of  his  trouble  in  his 
face. 

He  had  sat  by  Maria  day  after  day, 
wiping  the  cold  dampness  from  her  forehead 
and  watching  her  self  -  restraining  pride. 
They  did  not  talk  much,  and  when  they 
spoke  it  was  to  make  amusement  for  each 
other.  This  young  sister  growing  up  over 
the  sea  had  been  a  precious  image  to  his 
early  manhood.  But  it  was  easier  to  see 
her  die  now  that  the  cause  of  Dr.  Dun- 
lap's  enmity  was  growing  distinct  to  him. 

"  No  wonder  he  wanted  me  shot,"  thought 
Rice.  "  No  wonder  he  took  all  her  family 
as  his  natural  foes  at  sight." 

Sometimes  the  lawyer  dropped  his  papers 
and  walked  his  office,  detern^ining  to  go  out 
and  shoot  Dr.  Dunlap.  The  most  judicial 
mind  has  its  revolts  against  concise  state- 
ment.     In  these   boiling   moods   Rice   did 


82  •     OLD  KASKASKIA. 

not  want  evidence ;  he  knew  enough.  But 
cooler  counsel  checked  him.  There  were 
plenty  of  grounds  and  plenty  of  days  yet 
to  come  for  a  political  duel,  in  which  no 
names  and  no  family  honor  need  be  mixed. 

Rice  turned  back  from  the  gallery  steps 
with  a  start  at  hearing  a  voice  behind  him. 
It  was  only  young  Pierre  Menard  at  his 
father's  gate.  The  veins  on  the  child's 
temples  were  distended  by  their  embarrassed 
throbbing,  and  his  cheeks  shone  darkly  red. 

"  I  want,  in  fact,  to  speak  to  you.  Mon- 
sieur Zhone,"  stammered  Pierre,  looking 
anxiously  down  the  street  lest  the  slave  or 
Jean  Lozier  should  appear  before  he  had 
his  say. 

"  What  is  it,  colonel  junior  ?  "  said  Eice, 
returning  to  the  gate. 

"  I  want,  in  fact,  to  have  some  talk  about 
our  family." 

"  I  hope  you  have  n't  any  disagreement  in 
your  family  that  the  law  will  have  to 
settle?" 

"  Oh,   no,    monsieur,  we  do  not  quarrel 


A  FIELD  DAY.  83 

much.  And  we  never  should  quarrel  at  all 
if  we  had  a  mother  to  teach  us  better,"  said 
young  Pierre  adroitly. 

Rice  studied  him  with  a  sidelong  glance 
of  amusement,  and  let  him  struggle  un- 
helped  to  his  object. 

"Monsieur  Zhone,  do  you  intend  to  get 
married  ?  " 

*'  Certainly,"  replied  the  prompt  lawyer. 

*'  But  why  should  you  want  to  get  mar- 
ried?    You  have  no  children." 

"  I  might  have  some,  if  I  were  married," 
argued  Rice. 

"  But  unless  you  get  some  you  don't  need 
any  mother  for  them.  On  the  contrary,  we 
have  grea^j  need  of  a  mother  in  our  family." 

"  I  se(,.  You  came  to  take  my  advice 
about  a  stepmother.  I  have  a  stepmother 
myself,  and  I  am  the  very  man  to  advise 
you.  But  suppose  you  and  I  agree  on  the 
person  for  the  place,  and  the  colonel  refuses 
her  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  at  him  sharply,  but  there 
was  no  trace  of  raillery  on  Rice's  face. 


84  •      OLD  KASKASKIA. 

*'  You  never  can  tell  what  the  colonel  in- 
tends to  do  until  he  does  it,  monsieur,  hut  I 
think  he  will  he  glad  to  get  her.  The  girls 
—  all  of  us,  in  fact,  think  he  ought  to  be 
satisfied  with  her." 

"  You  are  quite  right.  I  don't  know  of  a 
finer  young  woman  in  Kaskaskia  than  Miss 
Peggy  Morrison." 

"  But  she  is  n't  the  one.  Monsieur  Zhone. 
Oh,  she  would  n't  do  at  all." 

"  She  would  n't  ?  I  have  made  a  mistake. 
It  's  Mademoiselle  Vigo." 

"  Oh,  no,  she  would  n't  do,  either.  There 
is  only  one  that  would  do."  The  boy  tried 
to  swallow  his  tumult  of  palpitation.  "  It  is 
Mademoiselle  Angelique  Saucier,  monsieur." 

Rice  looked  reproachfully  at  him  over 
folded  arms. 

"  That  's  why  I  came  to  you  about  it, 
monsieur.  In  the  first  place,  Odile  picked 
her  out  because  she  is  handsome ;  Berenice 
and  Alzira  want  her  because  she  is  good- 
natured  ;  and  I  want  her  because  I  like  to 
sit  in  the  room  where  she  is." 


A  FIELD  DAY.  85 

"  Young  man,  this  cannot  be,"  said  Rice 
Jones. 

"  Have  you  engaged  her  yourself,  mon- 
sieur? If  you  liave  n't,  please  don't.  No- 
body else  will  suit  us  ;  and  you  can  take 
Mademoiselle  Peggy  Morrison  that  you  think 
is  such  a  fine  young  woman.'* 

Rice  laughed. 

"  You  and  I  are  not  the  only  men  in  Kas- 
kaskia  who  admire  Mademoiselle  Saucier, 
my  lad." 

"  Bat  you  are  the  worst  one,"  said  Pierre 
eagerly.  "  Odile  thinks  if  you  let  her  alone 
we  may  get  her." 

"  But  I  can't  let  her  alone.  I  see  the 
force  of  your  claims,  Init  human  nature  is  so 
perverse,  Pierre,  that  I  want  her  worse  than 
ever." 

Pierre  dug  with  his  heel  in  the  grass. 
His  determined  countenance  delighted  the 
rival. 

"  Monsieur,  if  you  do  get  her,  you  have 
our  whole  family  to  beat." 

"  Yes,  I  see  what  odds  there  arc  against 
me,"  owned  Rice. 


80  OLD  K  ASK  A  SKI  A. 

"  We  are  going  to  marry  her  if  we  can 
—  and  my  fatlier  is  willing.  He  is  nearly 
always  willing  to  [)leaso  us." 

"  This  is  fair  and  open,"  j)ronounced  Rice, 
'*  and  the  way  for  gentlemen  to  treat  each 
other.  You  have  done  the  right  thing  in 
coming  to  talk  this  matter  over  with  me." 

"  I  'm  not  sure  of  that,  m'sieur." 

"  I  am,  for  there  is  nothing  better  than 
fair  and  open  rivalry.  And  after  all,  no- 
body can  settle  this  but  Mademoiselle 
Saucier  herself.  She  may  not  be  willing  to 
take  any  of  us.  But,  whatever  the  result, 
shake  hands,  Pierre." 

The  boy  transfc^rred  his  riding-whip,  and 
met  the  lawyer's  palm  with  a  hearty  grasp. 
They  shook  hands,  laughing,  and  Pierre  fcdt 
surprised  to  find  how  well  he  liked  liice 
Jones. 

As  the  wide  and  capacious  Kaskaskia 
houses  were  but  a  single  story  high,  Maria's 
bedroom  was  almost  in  the  garden.  Sweet- 
brier  stretched  above  the  foundation  and 
climbed  her  window;  and  there  were  rank 


A  FIELD  DAY.  87 

flowers,  such  aw  marigolds  and  peppery 
bouncing-bettles,  which  sent  her  pungent 
odors.  Sonietinies  slie  could  see  her  step- 
mother  walking  the  graveled  paths  between 
tlie  vegetable  beds,  or  her  father  and  Rice 
strolling  back  and  forth  together  of  an  even- 
ing. Each  one  was  certain  to  bring  her 
soniething,  —  a  long-stennned  pink,  or  phlox 
in  a  biuicli,  like  a  handful  of  honeycomb. 
The  gardener  pulled  out  dead  vines  and 
stalks  and  burned  them  behind  a  screen  of 
bushes,  tlie  thin  blue  smoke  trailing  low. 

Her  father  would  leave  his  ofhce  to  sit 
beside  her,  holding  the  hand  which  grew 
thinner  every  day.  He  had  looked  forward 
to  his  daughter's  coming  as  a  blossoming- 
time  in  his  life.  Maria  had  not  left  her 
bed  since  the  night  of  her  hemorrhage.  A 
mere  fortnight  in  tlie  Territory  seemed  to 
have  wasted  half  her  little  body. 

When  you  have  strained  to  bear  your  bur- 
den and  keep  u])  with  the  world's  march, 
lightly  conuniserated  by  the  strong,  there  is 
great  peace  in  finally  giving  up  and  lying 


88  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

down  by  the  roadside.  The  hour  often 
fiercely  wished  for,  and  as  often  repelled 
with  awe,  is  here.  The  visible  is  about  to 
become  invisible.  It  is  your  turn  to  pass 
into  the  unknown.  You  have  seen  other 
faces  stiffen,  and  other  people  carried  out 
and  forgotten.  Your  face  is  now  going  to 
chill  the  touch.  You  are  going  to  be  carried 
out.  But,  most  wonderful  of  all,  you  who 
have  been  so  keenly  alive  are  glad  to  creep 
close  to  Death  and  lay  your  head  in  his  lap. 

There  are  natures  to  whom  suffering  is 
degradation.  Sympathy  would  burn  them 
like  caustic.  They  are  dumb  on  the  side 
which  seeks  promiscuous  fellowship.  They 
love  one  person,  and  live  or  die  by  that 
love. 

"  I  have  borne  it  by  myself  so  far,"  Maria 
would  think  ;  "  I  can  bear  it  by  myself  the 
rest  of  the  way." 

Yet  the  sleepy  nurse  was  often  roused  at 
dead  of  night  by  her  sobbing  :  "  Oh,  James, 
that  you  should  be  in  the  same  town  with 
me,  and    never   come   near  to  see  me  die  I 


A  FIELD  DAY.  89 

And  I  love  you,  —  I  love  you  so  in  spite 
of  everything." 

Sometimes  she  resolved  to  tell  her  brother 
the  whole  story.  He  would  perhaps  think 
better  of  Dr.  Dunlap  than  he  now  did.  Yet, 
on  the  contrary,  his  implacable  pride  and 
sense  of  justice  might  drive  him  directly  out 
to  kill  the  man  she  loved.  And  again  she 
would  burn  with  rage  and  shame  at  Dr. 
Dunlap's  condescension  to  a  legal  marriage. 
He  was  willing. 

"You  are  not  willing,"  she  would  whisper 
fiercely  at  the  night  candle.  "  You  do  not 
love  me  any  more." 

The  old  glamour  again  covering  her,  she 
would  lie  in  a  waking  dream  for  hours,  liv- 
ing over  their  stolen  life  together.  And  she 
puzzled  herself  trying  to  fit  the  jagged  pieces 
of  her  experience,  and  to  understand  why  all 
these  things  should  happen.  The  mystery 
to  come  is  not  greater  than  the  mystery 
which  has  been,  when  one  lies  on  a  dying 
bed  and  counts  the  many  diverse  individuals 
that  have  lived  in  his  skin  and  been  called 
by  his  name. 


OLD  KASKASKIA. 

At  other  times,  all  she  had  lost  of  com- 
mon good  flashed  through  Maria  in  a  spark : 
the  deeds  to  other  souls ;  the  enjoyment  of 
nature,  which  is  a  continual  discovery  of  new 
worlds  ;  the  calm  joy  of  daily  life,  that  best 
prayer  of  thanks  to  Almighty  God. 

Maria  always  thought  of  these  wholesome 
things  when  Angelique  came  in  at  twilight, 
a  little  exhilarated  by  her  escape  from  the 
tyrant  at  home.  The  nurse  would  give 
place,  and  go  out  to  talk  with  the  other 
negroes,  while  Angelique  sat  down  and  held 
Maria's  hand.  Perhaps  invisible  streams 
of  health  flowed  from  her,  quieting  the  sick 
girl.  She  smiled  wdth  pure  happiness,  on 
account  of  general  good  and  comfort ;  her 
oval  face  and  dark  hair  and  eyes  having  a 
certain  freshness  of  creation.  Maria  looked 
at  her  and  wondered  what  love  and  sorrow 
would  do  to  her. 

Angelique  had  one  exquisite  characteristic 
which  Maria  did  not  at  first  notice,  but  it 
grew  upon  her  during  these  quiet  half-hours 
when  she  was  spared  the  effort  of  talking 


A  FIELD  DAY.  91 

or  listening.  It  was  a  fixed  look  of  pene- 
trating sweetness,  projecting  the  girl  herself 
into  your  nature,  and  making  her  one  with 
you.  No  intrusive  quality  of  a  stare  spoiled 
it.  She  merely  became  you  for  the  time 
being  ;  and  this  unconscious  pretty  trick  had 
brought  down  many  a  long  Kaskaskian,  for 
it  drove  directly  through  the  hearts  of  men. 

The  provincial  girl  sometimes  puzzled  her- 
seK  about  the  method  of  education  abroad 
which  had  produced  such  a  repressed  yet 
such  an  appealing  creature  as  Maria  Jones. 
When  she  talked  to  the  triangular  little  face 
on  the  pillow,  she  talked  about  the  outdoor 
w^orld  rather  than  its  people ;  so  that  after 
Angelique  went  away  Maria  often  fell  asleep, 
fancying  herself  on  the  grass,  or  lying  beside 
the  rivers  or  under  the  cool  shadows  of 
rocks. 

As  Rice  Jones  entered  the  house,  after 
his  talk  about  Angelique  with  young  Pierre 
Menard,  he  met  her  coming  out.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  her  twilight  visits  to  his  sister 
had   brought  them  face  to  face,  and  Rice 


92     ,      '  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

directly  turned  off  through  the  garden  with 
her,  inquiring  how  Maria  had  borne  the 
noise  of  the  day. 

"  She  is  very  quiet,"  said  Ang^jlique. 
"  She  was  indeed  falling  asleep  when  I  came 
out." 

"  I  sent  my  man  at  noon  and  at  three 
o'clock  to  bring  me  word  of  her." 

There  was  still  a  great  trampling  of  horses 
in  the  streets.  Shouts  of  departing  happy 
voters  sounded  from  the  Okaw  bridge,  mix- 
ing with  the  songs  of  river  men.  The  prim- 
rose lights  of  many  candles  began  to  bloom 
all  over  Kaskapkia.  Rice  parted  the  double 
hedge  of  currant  bushes  which  divided  his 
father's  garden  from  Saucier's,  and  followed 
Ang^lique  upon  her  own  gravel  walk,  hold- 
ing her  by  his  sauntering.  They  could 
smell  the  secluded  mould  in  the  shadow  of 
the  currant  roots,  which  dew  was  just  reach- 
ing. She  went  to  a  corner  where  a  thicket 
of  roses  grew.  She  had  taken  a  handful  of 
them  to  Maria,  and  now  gathered  a  fresh 
handful  for  herself,  reaching  in  deftly  with 


A  FIELD  DAY.  93 

mitted  arms,  holding*  her  gown  between  her 
knees  to  keep  it  back  from  the  briers. 
Some  of  them  were  wild  roses,  with  a  thin 
layer  of  petals  and  effulgent  yellow  centres. 
There  was  a  bouquet  of  garden-breaths  from 
gray-green  sage  and  rosemary  leaves  and  the 
countless  herbs  and  vegetables  which  every 
slaveholding  Kaskaskian  cultivated  for  his 
large  household.  Pink  and  red  hollyhocks 
stood  sentinel  along  the  paths.  The  slave 
cabins,  the  loom-house,  the  kitchen,  and  a 
row  of  straw  beehives  were  ranged  at  the 
back  of  the  lawn,  edging  the  garden. 

Angelique  came  back  to  the  main  walk, 
picking  her  way  with  slipper  toes,  and 
offered  part  of  her  spoil  to  Rice.  He  took 
some  roses,  and  held  the  hand  which  gave 
them.  She  had  come  in  his  way  too  soon 
after  his  mocking  little  talk  with  young 
Pierre  Menard.  He  was  occupied  with 
other  things,  but  that  had  made  him  feel  a 
sudden  need. 

Angelique  blushed  in  the  dense  twilight, 
her  face  taking  childlike  lines  of  apprehen- 


94  OLD  K A  SKA  SKI  A. 

sion.  Her  heart  sank,  and  she  suffered  for 
him  vicariously  in  advance.  Her  sensibil- 
ity to  other  presences  was  so  keen  that  she 
had  once  made  it  a  subject  of  confessiou. 
"  Father,  I  cannot  feel  any  separateness 
from  the  jieople  around  me.  Is  this  a  sin  ?  " 
"  Believe  that  you  have  the  saints  and  holy 
angels  also  in  your  comjiany,  and  it  will  be 
no  sin,"  answered  Father  Olivier. 

Though  she  was  used  to  these  queer  de- 
monstrations of  men,  her  conscience  always 
rebuked  her  for  the  number  of  offers  she 
received.  No  sooner  did  she  feel  on  terms 
of  excellent  friendliness  with  any  man  than 
ne  began  to  fondle  her  hand  and  announce 
himself  her  lover.  It  must  be  as  her  tante- 
gra'mere  said,  that  girls  had  too  much  lib- 
erty in  the  Territory.  Jules  Vigo  and  Billy 
Edgar  had  both  proposed  in  one  day,  and 
Angelique  hid  herself  in  the  loom -house, 
feeling  peculiarly  humbled  and  ashamed  to 
face  the  family,  until  her  godmother  had 
her  ahiost  forcibly  brought  back  to  the 
usual  post. 


A  FIELD  DAY.  95 

"  I  love  you,"  said  Rice  Jones. 

"  But  please,  no.  Monsieur  Zhone,  no.'* 

"  I  love  you,"  he  repeated,  compressing 
his  lips.  "  Why  '  no,  Monsieur  Zhone, 
no'?" 

"  I  do  not  know."  Angclique  drew  her 
hand  back  and  arranged  her  roses  over  and 
over,  looking  down  at  them  in  blind  distress. 

"  Is  it  Pierre  Menard  ?  " 

She  glanced  up  at  him  reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  it  is  only  that  I  do  not 
want "  —  She  put  silence  in  the  place  of 
words.  "Monsieur,"  she  then  appealed, 
"why  do  men  ask  girls  who  do  not  want 
them  to  ?  If  one  appeared  anxious,  then  it 
would  be  reasonable." 

"  Not  to  men,"  said  Rice,  smiling.  "  We 
will  have  what  is  hard  to  be  got.  I  shall 
have  you,  my  Angelique.     I  will  wait." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Angelique,  thinking  of 
an  obstacle  which  might  block  his  way,  "  I 
am  a  Catholic,  and  you  are  not." 

"  Priests  don't  frighten  me.  And  Father 
Olivier  is  too  sensible  an  old  fellow  to  ob- 


96  OLJ)  KA  SKA  SKI  A. 

ject  to  setting  you  in  the  car  of  my  ambi- 
tion." 

They  stood  in  silence. 

"  Good-night,  Monsieur  Zhone,"  said 
Angelique.     "  Don't  wait." 

"  But  I  shall  wait,"  said  Rice. 

He  had  bowed  and  turned  away  to  the 
currant  hedge,  and  Angelique  v.as  entering 
her  father's  lawn,  when  he  came  back  im- 
petuously. He  framed  her  cheeks  in  his 
hands,  and  she  could  feel  rather  than  see  the 
power  of  possession  in  his  eyes. 

"  Angelique ! "  he  said,  and  the  word 
rushed  through  her  like  flame.  She  recoiled, 
but  Rice  Jones  was  again  in  his  father's 
garden,  moving  like  a  shadow  toward  the 
house,  before  she  stirred.  Whether  it  was 
the  trick  of  the  orator  or  the  irrepressible 
outburst  of  passion,  that  appeal  continued  to 
ring  in  her  ears  and  to  thrill. 

More  disturbed  than  she  had  ever  been 
before  by  the  tactics  of  a  lover,  Angelique 
hurried  up  the  back  gallery  steps,  to  find 
Peggy  Morrison  sitting  in  her  chamber  win- 


A  FIELD  DAY.  97 

(low,  crosH-legged,  leaning  over  with  one  palm 
supporting  a  pointed  chin.  The  swinging 
sashes  were  pushed  outward,  and  Peggy's 
white  gown  hung  down  from  the  broad  sill. 

'*  Is  that  you,  Peggy  ?  "  said  Angelique. 
"  I  thought  you  were  dancing  at  Vigo's  this 
evening." 

"  I  thought  you  were,  too." 

"  Mama  felt  obliged  to  send  our  excuses, 
on  account  of  going  to  sister's  baby." 

"  How  beautiful  these  large  French  fami- 
lies are  ! "  observed  Peggy ;  "  some  of  them 
are  always  dying  or  teething,  and  the  girls 
are  slaves  to  their  elders." 

"  We  must  be  beautiful,"  said  Angelique, 
"since  two  of  the  Morrisons  have  picked 
wives  from  us ;  and  I  assure  you  the  Mor- 
rison babies  give  us  the  most  trouble." 

"  You  might  expect  that.  I  never  saw 
any  luck  go  with  a  red-headed  Morrison.'* 

Angelique  sat  down  on  the  sill,  also,  lean- 
ing against  the  side  of  the  window.  The 
garden  was  becoming  a  void  of  dimness, 
through  which  a  few  fu'eflies  sowed  them- 


98  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

selves.  Vapor  blotted  such  stars  as  they 
might  have  seen  from  their  perch,  and  the 
foliage  of  fruit  trees  stirred  with  a  whisjjer 
of  wind. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  came  to  stay  with  me, 
Peggy.  But  you  are  dressed  j  why  did  you 
not  go  ?  " 

*'  I  am  hiding." 

"  What  are  you  hiding  from  ?  " 

"  Jules  Vigo,  of  course." 

"  Poor  Jules." 

"Yes,  you  are  always  saying  poor  this 
and  that,  after  you  set  them  on  by  rejecting 
them.  They  run  about  like  blind,  mad  oxen 
till  they  bum})  their  stupid  heads  against 
somebody  that  will  have  them.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  I  got  a  second-hand  husband  one 
day,  taking  up  with  some  cast-off  of  yours." 

"  Peggy,  these  things  do  not  flatter  me ; 
they  distress  me,"  said  Angelique  genuinely. 

"  They  would  n't  distress  me.  If  I  had 
your  face,  and  your  hands  and  arms,  and 
the  way  you  carry  yourself,  I  'd  love  to  kill 
men.     They  have  no  sense  at  all." 


A  FIELD  DAY.  90 

Angelique  heard  her  grind  her  teeth,  and 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Why,  Peggy,  what  has  poor  Jules 
done?" 

*•  Oh,  Jules  !  —  he  is  nothing.  I  have 
just  engaged  myself  to  him  to  get  rid  of  him, 
and  now  I  have  some  right  to  be  let  alone. 
He 's  only  the  fourth  one  of  your  victims 
that  I  Ve  accepted,  and  doctored  up,  and  set 
on  foot  again.  I  take  them  in  rotation,  and 
let  them  easily  down  to  marrying  some  girl 
of  capacity  suitable  to  them.  And  until 
^ou  are  married  off,  I  have  no  prospect  of 
ever  being  anything  but  second  choice." 

Angelique  laughed. 

"Your  clever  tongue  so  fascinates  men 
that  this  is  all  mockery,  your  being  second 
choice.  But  indeed  I  like  men,  Peggy ;  if 
they  had  not  the  foolishness  of  falling  in 
love." 

"  Angelique  Saucier,  when  do  you  intend 
to  settle  in  life  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  French  girl 
slowly.     "  It  is  pleasant  to  be  as  we  are." 


100  ■     OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Peggy  glanced  at  her  through  the  dark. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  be  a  nun  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  no  vocation." 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  marry,  the  time  will 
come  when  you  '11  be  called  an  old  maid." 

"  That  is  what  mama  says.  It  is  a  pity 
to  make  ugly  names  for  good  women." 

"  I  '11  be  drawn  and  quartered  before  I  '11 
be  called  an  old  maid,"  said  Peggy  fiercely. 
"What  difference  does  it  make,  after  all, 
which  of  these  simpletons  one  takes  for  a 
husband  ?  Were  you  ever  in  love  with  one 
of  them,  Angelique  ?  " 

Peggy  had  the  kind  of  eyes  which  show  a 
disk  of  light  in  the  dark,  and  they  revealed 
it  as  she  asked  this  question. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  answered  Angelique. 

"  You  think  not.  You  believe,  to  the 
best  of  your  knowledge  and  recollection, 
that  such  a  thing  has  never  happened  to 
you,"  mocked  Peggy.  And  then  she  made 
a  sudden  pounce  at  Angelique' s  arm. 
"  What  was  the  matter  with  you  when  you 
ran  up  the  gallery  steps,  a  minute  ago  ?  " 


A  FIELD  DAY.  101 

The  startled  girl  drew  in  her  breath  with 
surprise,  but  laughed. 

"  It  was  lighter  then,"  hinted  Peggy. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him.  And  I  saw  you  coax- 
ing him  along  with  a  bunch  of  roses,  for 
all  the  world  like  catching  a  pony  with  a 
bunch  of  grass.  And  I  saw  him  careering 
back  to  neigh  in  your  face." 

"  Oh,  Peggy,  I  wish  Monsieur  Reece 
Zhone  could  but  hear  what  you  say.  Do 
teach  me  some  of  your  clever  ridicule.  It 
must  be  that  I  take  suitors  too  seriously." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Peggy  dryly,  "  I  need 
it  all  for  my  second-hand  lot.  He  is  the 
worst  fool  of  any  of  them."  v 

"  Take  care,  Peggy,  you  rouse  me.  Why 
is  a  man  a  fool  for  loving  me  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  loved  you,  then  ?  " 

The  Saucier  negroes  were  gathering  on 
doorsteps,  excited  by  the  day  and  the  bustle 
of  crowds  which  still  hummed  in  the  streets. 
Now  a  line  of  song  was  roared  from  the 
farthest  cabin,  and  old  and  young  voices  all 


102  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

poured  themselves  into  a  chorus.  A  slender 
young  moon  showed  itseK  under  foliage, 
dipping  almost  as  low  as  the  horizon.  Under 
all  other  sounds  of  life,  but  steadily  and 
with  sweet  monotony,  the  world  of  little 
living  things  in  grass  and  thicket  made  itself 
heard.  The  dewy  darkness  was  a  pleasure 
to  Angelique,  but  Peggy  moved  restlessly, 
and  finally  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
neck  and  leaned  against  the  window  side, 
watching  as  well  as  she  could  the  queen 
of  hearts  opposite.  She  could  herself  feel 
Angelique's  charm  of  beautiful  health  and 
outreaching  sympathy.  Peggy  was  a  can- 
did girl,  and  had  no  self-deceptions.  But 
she  did  have  that  foreknowledge  of  herself 
which  lives  a  germ  in  some  unformed  girls 
whose  development  surprises  everybody. 
She  knew  she  could  become  a  woman  of 
strength  and  influence,  the  best  wife  in  the 
Territory  for  an  ambitious  man  who  had  the 
wisdom  to  choose  her.  Her  sharp  fairness 
would  round  out,  moreover,  and  her  red 
head,  melting  the  snows  v/hich  fell  in  middle 


A  FIELD  DAY.  103 

age  on  a  Morrison,  become  a  softly  golden 
and  glorious  crown.  At  an  age  when  Ange- 
lique  would  be  faded,  Peggy's  richest  bloom 
would  appear.  She  was  like  the  wild  grapes 
under  the  bluffs  ;  it  required  frost  to  ripen 
her.  But  women  whom  nature  thus  obliges 
to  wait  for  beauty  seldom  do  it  graciously  ; 
transition  is  not  repose. 

"  Well,  which  is  it  to  be.  Rice  Jones  or 
Pierre  Menard  ?  Be  candid  with  me,  Ange- 
lique,  as  I  woiUd  be  with  you.  You  know 
you  will  have  to  decide  some  time." 

"  I  do  not  think  Monsieur  Reece  Zhone 
is  for  me,"  said  Angelique,  with  intuitive 
avoidance  of  Colonel  Menard's  name  ;  Peggy 
cared  nothing  for  the  fate  of  Colonel  Me- 
nard. "Indeed,  I  believe  his  mind  dwells 
more  on  his  sister  now  than  on  any  one 
else." 

"  I  hate  people's  relations  !  "  cried  Peggy 
brutally  ;  "  especially  their  sick  relations.  I 
could  n't  run  every  evening  to  pet  Maria 
Jones  and  feed  her  pap." 

"  I  do  not  pet   her   nor  feed  her  pap," 


104  OLD  EASKASKIA. 

declared  Angelique,  put  on  the  defensive. 
"  Don't  be  a  little  beast,  Peggy,"  she  added 
in  French. 

"  I  see  how  it  is  :  you  are  going  to  take 
him.  The  man  who  needs  a  bug  in  his  ear 
worse  than  any  other  man  in  the  Territory 
will  never  be  handed  over  to  me  to  get  it. 
But  let  me  tell  you,  you  will  have  your 
hands  full  with  Rice  Jones.  This  Welsh- 
English  stock  is  not  soft  stuff  to  manage. 
When  he  makes  that  line  with  his  lips  that 
looks  like  a  red-hot  razor  edge,  his  poor 
wife  will  wish  to  leave  this  earth  and  take 
to  the  bluffs." 

"  You  appear  to  think  a  great  deal  about 
Monsieur  Reece  Zhone  and  his  future  wife," 
said  Angelique  mischievously. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Peggy  de- 
fiantly, "  and  we  may  as  well  have  it  out 
now  as  any  time.  If  you  throw  him  at 
me,  I  shall  quarrel  with  you.  I  detest  Rice 
Jones.  He  makes  me  crosser  than  anv  other 
person  in  the  world." 

"  How  can  you  detest  a  man  like  that  ?    I 


A  FIELD  DAY.  105 

am  almost  afraid  of  him.  He  has  a  won- 
derful force.  It  is  a  great  thing  at  his  age 
to  be  elected  to  the  National  Assembly  as 
the  leader  of  his  ^^arty  in  the  Territory." 

'I  am  not  afraid  of  him,"  said  Peggy, 
with  a  note  of  pride. 

"  No,  —  for  I  have  sometimes  thought, 
Peggy,  that  Monsieur  Reece  Zhone  and  you 
were  made  for  each  other." 

Peggy  Morrison  sneered.  Her  nervous 
laughter,  however,  had  a  sound  of  jubilation. 

The  talk  stopped  there.  They  could  see 
fog  rising  like  a  smoke  from  the  earth, 
gradually  making  distant  indistinct  objects 
an  obliterated  memory,  and  filling  the  place 
where  the  garden  had  been. 

"  We  must  go  in  and  call  for  candles," 
said  Angelique. 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  turning  on  the  broad 
sill  and  stretching  herself  along  it,  "  let  me 
lay  my  head  in  your  lap  and  watch  that 
lovely  mist  come  up  like  a  dream.  It  makes 
me  feel  happy.  You  are  a  good  girl,  Ange- 
lique." 


PART  THIRD. 

THE   KISING. 

Father  Baby's  part  in  the  common  fields 
lay  on  the  Mississippi  side  of  the  peninsula, 
quite  three  miles  from  town.  The  common 
fields  as  an  entire  tract  belonged  to  the  com- 
munity of  Kaskaskia;  no  individual  held 
any  purchased  or  transferable  right  in  them. 
Each  man  who  wished  to  could  claim  his 
proportion  of  acres  and  plant  any  crop  he 
pleased,  year  after  year.  He  paid  no  rent, 
but  neither  did  he  hold  any  fee  in  the  land. 

Early  on  rainy  summer  mornings,  the 
friar  loved  to  hoist  his  capote  on  the  cord, 
and  tramp,  bare-legged,  out  to  his  two-acre 
farm,  leaving  his  slave,  with  a  few  small 
coins  in  the  till,  to  keep  shop  should  any 
customer  forestall  his  return. 

"  The  fathers   of  all  orders,"  explained 


THE  RISING.  107 

Father  Baby,  "from  their  earliest  founda- 
tions, have  counted  it  a  worthy  mortification 
of  the  flesh  to  till  the  ground.  And  be 
ready  to  refresh  me  without  grinning,  when 
I  come  back  muddy  from  performing  the 
labor  to  which  I  might  send  you,  if  I  were  a 
man  wlic  loved  sinful  ease.  Monastic  hab- 
its are  above  the  understanding  of  a  black 
rascal  like  you." 

The  truth  was,  the  friar  loved  to  play  in 
wet  dirt.  Civilized  life  and  the  confinement 
of  a  shop  worked  a  kind  of  ferment  in  his 
wild  spirit,  which  violent  dancing  somewhat 
relieved,  but  which  intimate  contact  with  the 
earth  cooled  and  settled.  Father  Baby  some- 
times stripped  off  his  capote  and  lay  down 
in  the  hollow  between  furrows  of  corn,  like 
a  very  lean  but  peaceful  pig.  He  would  not 
have  been  seen,  on  any  account,  and  lifted 
an  apprehensive  head  in  the  darkness  of  the 
morning  if  a  bird  rustled  past.  This  per- 
formance he  called  a  mortification  of  his 
frame  ;  but  when  this  sly  churchman  slipped 
up  and  put  on  his  capote  again,  his  thin 


108  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

visage  bore  the  same  gratified  lines  which 
may  be  seen  on  the  face  of  a  child  making 
mud  pies. 

It  had  rained  steadily  since  the  political 
field  day  which  had  drawn  such  crowds  to 
Kaskaskia.  The  waters  of  the  Okaw  had 
risen,  and  Father  Baby's  way  to  his  work 
had  been  across  fields  of  puddles,  through 
which  he  waded  before  dawn  ;  knowing  well 
that  a  week's  growth  of  weeds  was  waiting 
for  him  in  its  rankness. 

The  rain  was  not  over.  It  barely  yet  re- 
strained itself,  and  threatened  without  fall- 
ing ;  blotting  out  distance  as  the  light  grew. 
A  damp  air  blew  from  the  northwest.  Father 
Baby  found  the  little  avenues  between  his 
rows  of  maize  and  pea  vines  choked  with  the 
liberal  growth  which  no  man  plants,  and  he 
fell  furiously  to  work.  His  greatest  pleasure 
was  the  order  and  thrift  of  liis  little  farm, 
and  until  these  were  restored  he  could  not 
even  wallow  comfortably.  When  he  had 
hoed  and  pulled  out  stubborn  roots  until  his 
back  ached,  he  stood  erect,  letting  his  hands 


THE  RISING.  109 

hang  outspread,  magnified  by  their  mask 
of  dirt,  and  rested  himself,  thinking  of  the 
winter  dinners  he  would  enjoy  when  this 
moist  land  should  take  on  a  silver  coating 
of  frost,  and  a  frozen  sward  resist  the  tread 
of  his  wooden  shoe. 

"  O  Lord,"  said  Father  Baby,  "  I  confess 
I  am  a  sinner  ;  we  all  are.  But  I  am  a  prov- 
ident sinner  who  makes  good  use  of  the  in- 
crease Thou  dost  send  through  the  earth.  I 
do  Thee  to  wit  that  Antoine  Lamarche's 
crop  is  pretty  weedy.  The  lazy  dog  will 
have  to  buy  of  me,  and  if  I  do  not  skin  him 
well  —  But  hold  on.  My  blessed  Master, 
I  had  forgot  that  Antoine  has  a  sick  child 
in  his  house.  I  will  set  his  garden  in  order 
for  him.  Perhaps  Thou  wilt  count  it  to 
me  for  righteousness,  and  let  it  offset  some 
of  my  iniquities." 

So  when  he  had  finished  his  own,  the  friar 
put  his  hoe  into  his  neighbor's  patch,  and 
worked  until  the  sweat  roUed  down  his  thin 
cheeks.  Gusts  of  rain  added  their  moisture. 
As  much  light  as  the  world  was  to  have  that 


110  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

day  filtered  through  sheets  of  vapor.  The 
bluffs  bordering  the  Okaw  could  not  be 
seen  except  as  a  vague  bank  of  forest ;  and 
as  for  the  lowlands  across  the  great  river, 
they  might  as  well  have  had  no  existence. 

It  grew  upon  Father  Baby's  observation 
that  the  Mississippi  had  never  looked  so 
threatening.  He  stuck  to  his  hoeing  until 
he  was  nearly  exhausted,  and  Antoine  La- 
marche's  ground  showed  at  least  enough  im- 
provement to  offset  all  the  cheating  he  had 
done  that  week,  and  then  made  his  way 
among  bushes  to  the  verge  of  the  bank.  The 
strong  current  always  bearing  down  from 
the  northwest  against  the  peninsula  had  in- 
creased its  velocity  to  a  dizzy  sweep.  It  bit 
out  pieces  of  the  shore  as  large  as  Father 
Baby's  shop,  and  far  and  near  these  were 
seen  falling  in  with  splashes  like  the  spout- 
ing of  whales. 

"  At  this  rate,"  said  Father  Baby  aloud, 
"  I  shall  have  no  part  left  in  the  common 
fields  by  next  year." 

The  river's  tremendous  rolling  roar  was 


THE  RTsma.  Ill 

also  swollen  to  unusual  magnitude.  He 
looked  afar  over  a  tawny  surface  at  under- 
mined stumps  and  trees  racing  past  one 
another.  The  June  rise,  which  the  melting 
of  snows  in  those  vague  regions  around  its 
head-waters  was  called,  had  been  consider- 
able, but  nothing  to  terrify  the  Kaskaskians. 
One  week's  rain  and  the  drainage  of  the 
bottom  lands  could  scarcely  have  raised  the 
river  to  such  a  height.  "  Though  Heaven 
alone  can  tell,"  grumbled  the  friar,  "  what 
the  Mississippi  will  do  for  its  own  amuse- 
ment. All  the  able  slaves  in  Kaskaskia 
should  be  set  to  work  on  the  levee  before 
this  day  is  an  hour  older." 

Carrying  the  hoe  on  his  shoulder  like  any 
laborer,  and  drawing  the  hood  of  his  gar- 
ment over  his  bald  crown  as  the  mist  of  rain 
increased  to  a  driving  sheet.  Father  Baby 
tramped  along  the  river  edge  toward  an  un- 
finished defense  against  the  waters.  It  was 
a  high  dike,  beginning  on  a  shoulder  of  the 
peninsula  above  the  town,  but  extending 
barely  a  mile  across  a  marsh  where  the  river 


112  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

had  once  continuously  raveled  the  shore 
even  in  dry  seasons.  The  friar  was  glad  to 
discern  a  number  of  figures  at  work  carting 
earth  to  the  most  exposed  and  sunken  spots 
of  this  dike. 

The  marsh  inside  the  embankment  was 
now  a  little  lake,  and  some  shouting  black 
boys  were  paddling  about  there  in  a  canoe 
which  had  probably  been  made  during  the 
leisure  enforced  by  wet  weather.  It  was  a 
rough  and  clumsy  thing,  but  very  strongly 
put  together. 

The  tavern  in  Kaskaskia  was  a  common 
meeting-place.  Other  guest  houses,  scattered 
through  the  town,  fed  and  lodged  the  humble 
in  an  humble  way  ;  but  none  of  them  dared 
to  take  the  name  "  tavern,"  or  even  to  imi- 
tate its  glories.  In  pleasant  weather,  its  gal- 
lery was  filled  with  men  bargaining,  or  hiring 
the  labor  of  other  men.  It  was  the  gather- 
ing and  distributing  point  of  news,  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Assembly  when  that  body 
was  in  session,  —  a  little  hotel  de  ville,  in 
fact,  where  municipal  business  was  trans- 
acted. 


THE  RISTXG.  113 

The  wainscoted  dining-room,  which  had  a 
ceiling  traversed  by  oak  beams,  liad  been 
the  scene  of  many  stately  ban(juet.  In 
front  of  this  was  the  bar-room,  thirty  by 
forty  feet  in  dimensions,  with  a  great  stone 
fireplace  built  at  one  end.  There  was  a  high 
carved  mantel  over  this,  displaying  the  solid 
silver  candlesticks  of  the  house,  and  the  sil- 
ver snuffers  on  their  tray  embossed  with 
dragons.  The  bar  was  at  the  end  of  the 
room  opposite  the  fireplace,  and  behind  it 
shone  the  grandest  of  negi'o  men  in  white 
linen,  and  behind  him,  tiei*  oii  tier,  an  array 
of  flasks  and  flat  bottles  nearly  reaching  the 
low  ceiling.  Poor  Kaskaskians  who  entered 
there,  entered  society.  They  always  pulled 
their  cappos  off  their  heads,  and  said  "  Good- 
evening,  messieurs,"  to  the  company  in  gen- 
eral. It  was  often  as  good  as  a  feast  to 
smell  the  spicy  odors  stealing  out  from  the 
dining-room.  It  was  a  gentle  community, 
and  the  tavern  bar-room  was  by  no  means  a 
resort  of  noisy  drinkers.  If  any  indecorum 
threatened,  the  host  was  able  to  quell   it. 


X 


114       •    I         OLD  KASKASKIA. 

He  sat  ill  his  own  leather  chair,  at  the  hearth 
corner  in  winter,  and  on  the  gallery  in  sum- 
mer ;  a  gigantic  Frenchman,  full  of  accumu- 
lated happiness. 

It  was  barely  dusk  when  candles  were 
lighted  in  the  sconces  around  the  walls,  and 
on  the  mantel  and  bar.  The  host  had  his 
chair  by  a  crackling  fire,  for  continual  damp- 
ness made  the  July  night  raw;  and  the 
crane  was  swung  over  the  blaze  with  a  steam- 
ing tearkettle  on  one  of  its  hooks.  Several 
Indians  also  sat  by  the  stone  flags,  opposite 
the  host,  moving  nothing  but  their  small 
restless  eyes;  aboriginal  America  watching 
transplanted  Europe,  and  detecting  the  in- 
compatible qualities  of  French  and  English 
blood. 

The  bar-room  had  its  orchestra  of  three 
banjos,  making  it  a  hall  of  music  every  night 
in  the  year.  And  herein  Africa  added  itself 
to  the  civilization  of  the  New  World.  Three 
coal-black  slaves  of  the  host's  sat  on  a  bench 
sacred  to  them,  and  softly  twanged  their  in- 
struments, breaking  out  at  intervals  into  the 


THE  RISING.  .  115 

wild  chants  of  their  people;  improvising, 
and  stimulating  each  other  by  musical  hints 
and  exclamations.  It  was  evident  that  they 
esteemed  their  office;  and  the  male  public 
of  Kaskaskia  showed  them  consideration. 
While  the  volume  of  talk  was  never  lessened 
during  their  glees,  the  talkers  all  listened 
with  at  least  one  ear.  There  was  no  loud 
brawling,  and  the  laughter  raised  by  argu- 
ment rarely  drowned  the  banjos.  Some- 
times a  Frenchman  was  inspired  to  cut  a 
pigeon  wing  ;  and  Father  Baby  had  tripped 
it  over  every  inch  of  this  oak  floor,  when 
the  frenzy  for  dancing  seized  him  and  the 
tunes  were  particularly  irresistible.  The 
bar-room  gave  him  his  only  taste  of  Kaskas- 
kia society,  and  he  took  it  with  zest.  Little 
wizened  black-eyed  fellows  clapped  their 
hands,  delighting,  while  their  priest  was  not 
by,  in  the  antics  of  a  disreputable  church- 
man ;  but  the  bigger  and  colder  race  paid 
little  attention  to  him. 

Various  as  were  the  home   backgrounds 
of  the  lives  converging  at  the  tavern,  there 


116      •    .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

were  but  two  topics  before  that  little  public 
while  the  cosy  fire  roared  and  the  banjos 
rattled.  A  rumor  of  coming  high  water 
was  running  down  the  Mississippi  valley 
like  the  wind  which  is  driven  before  a  rush 
of  rain ;  and  the  non-separation  party  had 
suffered  some  local  defeat  in  the  Indiana 
Territory.  The  first  item  of  news  took 
greatest  hold  on  those  serious  Anglo-Ameri- 
cans who  had  come  from  the  Atlantic  coast 
to  found  estates  in  this  valley.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  peasant  tenant  gave  his  mind  to 
politics.  It  was  still  an  intoxicating  privi- 
lege for  him  to  have  a  say  in  the  govern- 
ment. 

"  Dese  Indiana  Territory  fellers,"  piped 
a  grasshopper  of  a  Frenchman,  springing 
from  his  chair  in  excitement,  "  dey  want 
our  slaves,  dey  want  our  Territory,  —  dey 
want  de  hide  off  our  backs." 

"  Tony  Lamarche,"  drawled  a  Virginian, 
"  you  don't  know  what  you  're  talking  about. 
You  have  n't  e'er  a  slave  to  your  name ;  and 
you  don't  own  a  foot  of  the  Territory.     As 


THE  RISING.  117 

for  your  hide,  it  would  n't  make  a  drum- 
head nohow.  So  what  are  you  dancin' 
about?" 

"  If  I  got  no  land,  I  got  some  of  dose 
rights  of  a  citizen,  eh  ?  "  snorted  Antoine, 
planting  himself  in  front  of  the  Virginian, 
and  bending  forward  until  they  almost 
touched  noses. 

"  I  reckon  you  have,  and  I  reckon  you 
better  use  them.  You  git  your  family  over 
on  to  the  bluff  before  your  house  is  sucked 
into  the  Okaw." 

"  And  go  and  hoe  the  weeds  out  of  your 
maize  patch,  Antoine,"  exhorted  Father 
Baby,  setting  an  empty  glass  back  on  the 
bar.  "  I  cleaned  part  of  them  out  for  you 
myself,  with  the  rain  streaming  down  my 
back,  thinking  only  of  your  breadless  chil- 
dren. And  what  do  I  find  when  I  come 
home  to  my  shop  but  that  Antoine  La- 
marche  has  been  in  and  carried  off  six  dog- 
leg twists  of  tobacco  on  credit !  I  say  no- 
thing about  it.  I  am  a  childless  old  friar ; 
but  I  have  never  seen  children  eat  tobacco." 


118  .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

The  baited  Frencliman  turned  on  Father 
Baby ;  but,  like  a  skittish  girl,  the  friar 
hopped  across  the  room,  shook  off  his 
wooden  shoes,  picked  up  the  skirt  of  his 
htxbit,  and  began  to  dance.  The  exhilarat- 
ing drink,  the  ruddiness  of  the  fire,  the 
discomfort  outside,  the  smoothness  of  the 
oak  boards,  —  these  were  conditions  of  hap- 
piness for  Father  Baby.  This  was  perhaps 
the  crowning  instant  of  his  experience.  He 
was  a  butterfly  man.  He  saw  his  lodge^. 
Dr.  Dunlap,  appear  at  the  door  as  haggard 
as  the  dead.  The  friar's  first  thought 
was :  — 

"  That  fellow  has  proposed  for  Mademoi- 
selle Saucier  and  been  rejected.  I  'm  glad 
I  'm  a  churchman,  and  not  yoked  up  to  draw 
a  family,  like  these  fools,  and  like  he  wants 
to  be.  This  bowing  down  and  worshiping 
another  human  being,  —  crazy  if  you  don't 
get  her,  and  crazed  by  her  if  you  do,  —  I  '11 
have  none  of  it." 

Dr.  Dunlap  raised  his  arms  and  shouted 
to  the  company  in  the  bar-room.     What  he 


THE  RISING.  119 

said  no  one  could  hear.  Hissing  and  roaring 
filled  the  world,  submerging  the  crackling  of 
the  fire,  the  banjo  tunes,  and  human  voices. 
Men  looked  at  each  other,  stupefied,  hold- 
ing their  pipes  from  their  mouths.  Then  a 
wave  struck  the  solid  old  tavern,  hissed 
across  its  gallery,  and  sprawled  through  the 
hall  upon  the  bar-room  floor.  Not  a  per- 
son in  the  house  could  understand  what 
had  happened  to  Kaskaskia  peninsula ;  but 
Jean  Lozier  stood  on  the  bluff  and  saw  it. 

Jean  was  watching  the  lights  of  Kaskas- 
kia while  his  sick  grandfather  slept.  The 
moon  was  nearly  full,  but  on  such  a  night 
one  forgot  there  was  a  moon.  The  bushes 
dripped  on  Jean,  and  the  valley  below  him 
was  a  blur  pierced  by  those  rows  of  lights. 
A  great  darkness  was  coming  out  of  the 
northwest,  whistling  as  it  came.  He  saw 
the  sky  and  the  turbid  Mississippi  meet  and 
strangely  become  one.  There  were  waters 
over  the  heavens,  and  waters  under  the 
heavens.  A  wall  like  a  moving  dam  swept 
across   the   world   and   filled  it.     Tne  boy 


120.  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

found  himself  sitting  on  the  ground  holding 
to  a  sapling,  drenched  and  half  drowned  by 
the  spray  which  dashed  up  the  bluffs.  The 
darkness  and  hissing  went  over  him,  and 
he  thought  he  was  dying  without  absolution, 
at  the  end  of  the  world.  He  lay  down  and 
gasped  and  shuddered  until  the  great  Thing 
was  gone,  —  the  incredible  Thing,  in  which 
no  one  believes  except  him  who  has  seen  it, 
and  which  no  name  can  name ;  that  awful 
spirit  of  Deluge,  which  lives  in  the  tradi- 
tions of  every  race.  Jean  had  never  heard 
of  waterspout  or  cloudburst  or  any  modern 
name  given  to  the  Force  whenever  its  leash 
is  slipped  for  a  few  minutes.  He  felt  him- 
self as  trivial  a  thing  in  chaos  as  the  ant 
which  clung  on  his  hand  and  bit  him  be- 
cause it  was  drowning. 

The  blind  downpour  being  gone,  though 
rain  still  fell  and  the  wind  whistled  in  his 
ears,  Jean  climbed  across  bent  or  broken 
saplings  nearer  the  bluff's  edge  to  look  at 
Kaskaskia.  The  rows  of  lights  were  par- 
tially blotted  ;  and  lightning,  by  its   swift 


THE  RISING.  121 

unrollings,  showed  him  a  town  standing  in  a 
lake.  The  Mississippi  and  the  Okaw  had 
become  one  water,  spreading  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  see.  Now  bells  began  to  clamor 
from  that  valley  of  foam.  The  bell  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception,  cast  in  France  a 
hundred  years  before,  which  had  tolled  for 
D'Artaguette,  and  made  jubilee  over  wed- 
dings and  christenings,  and  almost  lived  the 
life  of  the  people,  sent  out  the  alarm  cry  of 
smitten  metal ;  and  a  tinkling  appeal  from 
the  convent  supplemented  it. 

There  was  no  need  of  the  bells  to  rouse 
Kaskaskia;  they  served  rather  as  sound- 
ing buoys  in  a  suddenly  created  waterway. 
Peggy  Morrison  had  come  to  stay  all  night 
with  Angelique  Saucier.  The  two  girls 
were  shut  in  their  bedroom,  and  Ange- 
lique's  black  maid  was  taking  the  pins  from 
Peggy's  hair,  when  the  stone  house  received 
its  shock,  and  shuddered  like  a  ship. 
Screams  were  heard  from  the  cabins.  An- 
gelique  threw  the  sashes  open,  and  looked 
into  storm    and   darkness ;    yet   the   light- 


122  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

ning  showed  her  a  driving  current  of  water 
combed  by  pickets  of  the  garden  fence.  It 
washed  over  the  log  steps,  down  which  some 
of  her  father's  slaves  were  plunging  from 
their  doors,  to  recoil  and  scramble  and  mix 
their  despairing  cries  with  the  wakening 
clamor  of  bells. 

Their  master  shouted  encouragement  to 
them  from  the  back  gallery.  Angelique's 
candles  were  blown  out  by  the  wind  when 
she  and  Peggy  tried  to  hold  them  for  her 
father.  The  terrified  maid  crouched  down 
in  a  helpless  bunch  on  the  hall  floor,  and 
Madame  Saucier  herself  brought  the  lantern 
from  the  attic.  The  perforated  tin  beacon, 
spreading  its  bits  of  light  like  a  circular 
shower  of  silver  on  the  gallery  floor,  was 
held  high  for  the  struggling  slaves.  Heads 
as  grotesque  as  the  waterspouts  on  old  ca- 
thedrals craned  through  the  darkness  and 
up  to  the  gallery  posts.  The  men  breasted 
the  deepening  water  first,  and  howling  lit- 
tle blacks  rode  on  their  fathers'  shoulders. 
Captain  Saucier  pulled  the  trembling  crea- 


THE  lilSING.  123 

tiires  in,  standing  waist-deep  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps.  The  shrieking  women  balanced 
light  bundles  of  dry  clothes  on  their  heads, 
and  the  cook  brought  useless  kettles  and 
pans,  not  realizing  that  all  the  food  of  the 
house  was  lost  in  a  water-filled  cellar. 

The  entire  white-eyed  colony  were  landed, 
but  scarcely  before  it  was  time  to  close  the 
doors  of  the  ark.  A  far-off  roar  and  a  swell 
like  that  of  the  ocean  came  across  the  sub- 
merged country.  No  slave  had  a  chance  to 
stand  whimpering  and  dripping  in  the  hall. 
Captain  Saucier  put  up  the  bars,  and  started 
a  black  line  of  men  and  women,  with  pieces 
of  furniture,  loads  of  clothing  and  linen, 
bedding  and  pewter  and  silver,  and  precious 
baskets  of  china,  or  tiers  of  books,  upon 
their  heads,  up  the  attic  stairs.  Angelique's 
harp  went  up  between  two  stout  fellows, 
tingling  with  little  sighs  as  they  bumped  it 
on  the  steps.  Tante-gra'mere's  room  was 
invaded,  and  her  treasures  were  transferred 
before  she  had  a  chance  to  prohibit  it.  The 
children  were  taken  from  their  beds  by  the 


124  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

nurse,  anil  carried  to  beds  made  for  tliem  iu 
the  attic,  where  they  gazed  awhile  at  their 
rude  dark  canopy  of  rafters,  and  fell  asleep 
again  in  luxury,  sure  of  protection,  and  ex- 
pecting nnich  of  such  novel  times. 

The  attic,  like  the  house  under  it,  had 
dignity  of  space,  in  which  another  large 
family  might  have  found  shelter.  Over 
rawhide  trunks  and  the  disused  cradle  and 
still-crib  was  now  piled  the  salvage  of  a 
wealthy  household.  Two  dormer  windows 
pierced  the  roof  fronting  the  street,  and 
there  was  also  one  in  the  west  gable,  ex- 
tending like  a  hallway  toward  the  treetops, 
but  none  in  the  roof  at  the  back. 

The  timbers  of  the  house  creaked,  and  at 
every  blow  of  the  water  the  inmates  could 
hear  it  splashing  to  the  chimneys  on  one 
side,  and  running  down  on  the  other. 

"  Now,"  said  Captain  Saucier  desperately, 
"  tante-gra'mere  must  be  roused  and  carried 
up." 

"  Yes,  the  feather  beds  are  all  piled  to- 
gether for  her,  with  fresh  linen  sheets  and 


THE  RISING.  125 

all  her  cushions  ;  but,"  gasped  madame  his 
wife,  "  she  has  never  before  been  waked  in 
the  night.  Is  it  not  better  to  send  Ange- 
lique  to  bring  her  by  degrees  into  a  frame 
of  mind  for  being  removed?  " 

"  There  is  no  time.  I  have  left  her  till 
the  last  minute,  hoping  she  might  wake." 

They  made  a  procession  into  her  chamber, 
Angelique  and  Peggy  carrying  candles,  the 
grand-nephew  and  griind-niece  ready  for  a 
conflict.  Waters  booming  against  the  house, 
and  already  making  river  coves  of  familiar 
rooms,  were  scarcely  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  the  obstinate  will  of  a  creature  as  small 
as  a  child. 

Angelique  lifted  a  ruffle  of  tante-gra'- 
m^re's  nightcap  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 
She  stirred,  and  struck  out  with  one  hand, 
encountering  the  candle  flame.  That  brought 
her  upright,  staring  with  indignant  black 
eyes  at  the  conclave. 

"Dear  tante-gra'mere,  \/C;  are  in  danger. 
There  is  a  great  overflow  of  the  rivers." 

The   autocrat   felt  for   her   whip   in   its 


1261  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

accustomed  place,  and  armed  herself  with 
it. 

"  Pardon  us  for  disturbing  you,  tante- 
gra'mere,"  said  her  grand-nephew,  ''but  I 
ani  obliged  to  carry  you  into  the  attic." 

"  Is  the  sun  up  ?  "  cried  the  little  voice. 

"  The  water  is,  nuidanie,"  answered  Peggy. 

"  If  you  wait  for  the  sun,  tante-gra'mere," 
urged  her  grand-nephew's  wife,  "you  will 
drown  here." 

"Do  you  teU  me  I  will  drown  in  my 
own  bed?  I  will  not  drown.  Where  is 
Wachique?" 

"  She  is  carrying  your  chairs  into  the 
attic,  tante-gra'mere." 

"  My  chairs  gone  to  the  attic  in  my  life- 
time? And  who  has  claimed  my  dower 
chest  and  my  linen  ?  " 

"  All  your  things  are  safely  removed  ex- 
cept this  bedstead,  madame,"  declared  Ange- 
lique's  mother.  "  They  were  set  down  more 
carefully  than  my  china." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  asleep  ?  " 

"  Only  a  few  hours,  tante-gra'mere.  It  is 
early  in  the  night." 


THE  niSJNG.  127 

I  ler  withertnl  face  was  quite  wrathful. 

"  The  water  is  all  over  the  floor,  matlamc. 
We  are  standing  to  our  ankles.  In  a  few 
iniuutes  we  shall  be  standing  to  our  knees. 
Look  at  it.  Do  you  hear  the  roaring  and 
the  wash  outside?  Kaskaskia  is  under 
water,  and  the  people  have  to  climb  to  the 
roofs." 

The  aged  woman  always  listened  incredu- 
lously to  Peggy.  She  now  craned  over  the 
side  of  the  bed,  and  examined  for  herself 
streams  like  quicksilver  slipping  along  the 
dark  boards. 

"  Why  did  you  not  do  something  to  pre- 
vent this,  instead  of  coming  in  here  to  break 
my  rest?  "  she  inquired. 

Captain  Saucier  extended  his  hands  to 
lift  her,  but  she  lay  down  again,  holding  the 
whip  bolt  upright. 

"  If  I  go  to  the  attic.  Captain  Saucier, 
my  bed  goes  with  me." 

"  There  is  not  time  to  move  it." 

"  And  there  is  such  a  beautiful  bed  up 
there,  quite  ready,  with  all  your  cushions." 


128      •  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  My  bed  goes  with  me,"  repeated  tante- 
gra'mere. 

"There  will  soon  be  water  enough  to 
carry  it,"  remarked  Peggy,  "  if  it  will 
float." 

Waves  crashing  across  the  gallery  broke 
against  tante  -  gra'mere's  closed  shutters 
and  spurted  between  the  sashes.  This  freak 
of  the  storm  devastating  Kaskaskia  she 
regarded  with  sidelong  scrutiny,  such  as  a 
crow  gives  to  the  dubious  figure  set  to 
frighten  it.  The  majesty  of  the  terror  which 
was  abroad  drove  back  into  their  littleness 
those  sticks  and  pieces  of  cloth  which  she 
had  valued  so  long.  Again  came  the  crash 
of  water,  and  this  time  the  shutters  bowed 
themselves  and  a  sash  blew  in,  and  the 
Mississippi  burst  into  the  room. 

The  candles  were  out,  but  Captain  Sau- 
cier had  caught  up  his  relative  as  the  water 
struck.  Angelique  groped  for  her  mother, 
and  she  and  Peggy  led  that  dazed  woman 
through  the  hall,  laughing  at  their  own 
shudders  and  splashes,  and  Captain  Saucier 


THE  RISING.  129 

waded  after  them.  So  the  last  vestige  of 
human  life  forsook  this  home,  taking  to  the 
shelter  of  the  attic ;  and  ripples  drove  into 
the  fireplaces  and  frothed  at  the  wainscots. 

The  jangling  of  the  bells,  to  which  the 
family  had  scarcely  listened  in  their  nearer 
tumult  and  frantic  haste,  became  very  dis- 
tinct in  the  attic.  So  did  the  wind  which 
was  driving  that  foaming  sea.  All  the  win- 
dows were  closed,  but  moisture  was  blown 
through  the  tiniest  crevices.  There  were 
two  rooms  in  the  attic.  In  the  first  one  the 
slaves  huddled  among  piles  of  furniture. 
The  west  room  held  the  children's  pallets 
and  tante-gra'mere's  lowly  substitute  for  her 
leviathan  bed.  She  sat  up  among  pillows, 
blinking  resentfully.  Angelique  at  once  had 
a  pair  of  bedroom  screens  brought  in,  and 
stretched  a  wall  of  privacy  across  the  cor- 
ner thus  occupied;  but  tante-gra'mere  as 
promptly  had  them  rearranged  to  give  her 
a  tunnel  for  observation.  In  chaotic  anger 
and  terror  she  snapped  her  whip  at  inter- 
vals. 


130  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  tante-gra'mere  ?  "  An- 
gelique  would  inquire. 

"  Send  Wachique  down  to  bring  up  my 
bedstead." 

'  "  But,  dear  tante  -  gra'mere,  Wacliique 
would  drown.  The  water  is  already  half 
way  up  the  attic  stairs." 

"  Am  I  to  lie  here  on  the  floor  like  a 
slave?" 

"  Dear,  there  are  six  feather  beds  under 
you." 

"  How  long  is  this  to  last  ?  " 

"  Not  long,  I  hope." 

Peggy  stood  at  the  gable  window  and 
looked  out  at  the  seething  night.  To  her 
the  peninsula  seemed  sinking.  She  could 
not  see  anything  distinctly.  Foam  specked 
the  panes.  The  bells  kept  up  their  alarm. 
Father  Olivier  was  probably  standing  on  the 
belfry  ladder  cheering  his  black  ringer,  and 
the  sisters  took  turns  at  their  rope  with  that 
determined  calmness  which  was  the  rule  of 
their  lives.  Peggy  tried  to  see  even  the  roof 
of  her  home.     She  was  a  grateful  daughter ; 


THE  RISING.  131 

but  her  most  anxious  thoughts  were  not  of 
the  father  and  mother  whose  most  anxious 
thoughts  would  be  of  her. 

When  the  fury  of  the  cloudburst  had 
passed  over,  and  the  lightning  no  longer 
flickered  in  their  faces,  and  the  thunder 
growled  away  in  the  southeast,  the  risen 
water  began  to  show  its  rolling  surface.  A 
little  moonlight  leaked  abroad  through 
cloudy  crevices.  Angelique  was  bathing  her 
mother's  face  with  camphor;  for  Madame 
Saucier  sat  down  and  fainted  comfortably, 
when  nothing  else  could  be  done.  Some- 
thing bimiped  against  the  side  of  the  house, 
and  crept  crunching  and  bumping  along, 
and  a  voice  hailed  them. 

"  That  is  Colonel  Menard  !  "  cried  Ange- 
lique. 

Her  father  opened  one  of  the  dormer  win- 
dows and  held  the  lantern  out  of  it.  Below 
the  steep  roof  a  boat  was  dashed  by  the 
swell,  and  Colonel  Menard  and  his  oarsman 
were  trying  to  hold  it  off  from  the  eaves. 
A  lantern  was  fastened  in  the  prow. 


132        •  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  liow  do  you  make  a  landing  at  this 
port?" 

"  The  saints  know,  colonel.  But  we  will 
land  you.  How  dared  you  venture  out  in 
the  trail  of  such  a  storm  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  like  to  wait  on  weather,  Cap- 
tain Saucier.  Besides,  I  am  a  good  swim- 
mer.    Are  you  all  safe  ?  " 

"  Safe,  thank  Heaven,"  called  Madame 
Saucier,  reviving  at  the  hint  of  such  early 
rescue,  and  pressing  to  the  window  beside 
her  husband.  "  But  here  are  twenty  peo- 
ple, counting  our  slaves,  driven  to  the  roof 
almost  without  warning ;  and  who  can  say 
where  the  water  will  stop  ?  " 

"On  that  account,  madame,  I  came  out 
with  the  boat  as  soon  as  I  could.  But  we 
shall  be  stove  in  here.  Monsieur  the  cap- 
tain, can  you  let  the  family  down  the  roof 
tome?" 

Captain  Saucier  thought  he  could,  and  he 
saw  it  would  have  to  be  done  quickly.  By 
dim  lantern  light  the  Saucier  children  were 
hurried  into  their  clothing,  and  Wachique 


THE  RISING.  133 

brought  a  wrap  of  fur  and  wool  for  tante- 
gra'mere.  Three  of  the  slave  men  were 
called  in,  and  they  rigged  a  rope  around 
their  master's  waist,  by  which  they  could 
hold  and  guide  him  in  his  attempt  to  carry 
living  freight  down  the  slippery  roof. 

"  How  many  can  you  carry  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Six  at  a  time,"  answered  Colonel  Me- 
xiard.  "  To  try  to  do  more  would  hardly  be 
safe,  in  this  rough  water." 

"  Were  the  boats  at  the  wharf  swept 
away  ?  " 

"It  is  not  now  easy  to  tell  where  the 
wharf  was.  But  some  of  the  large  craft 
seem  wedged  among  trees  along  the  bluff. 
By  daylight  we  shall  get  some  out.  And  I 
have  sent  to  the  governor  for  all  the  boats 
he  can  muster  for  us." 

Angelique  came  to  the  dormer  window 
and  touched  her  father's  shoulder. 

"  Are  you  all  ready  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tante  -  gra'mere  will  not  go  into  the 
boat." 


134  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"But  she  must.  There  will  be  six  of 
you,  with  Peggy ;  and  Colonel  Menard  can- 
not much  longer  hang  by  the  eaves." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  pick  her  up  and  run  with 
her,  papa,  as  you  did  from  the  danger  below, 
she  may  allow  it." 

"  She  must  go  into  the  boat  directly," 
said  Captain  Saucier  ;  and  the  negroes  paid 
out  the  rope  as  he  stalked  to  the  screened 
corner. 

Angelique  leaned  over  the  sill  and  the 
chill  wilderness  of  waters.  The  wind  sung 
in  her  ears.  She  could  not  distinctly  see 
Colonel  Menard,  and  there  was  such  a  sound 
of  waves  that  she  was  not  sure  it  was  best  to 
try  her  voice  against  them.  His  man  had 
an  oar  thrust  into  the  broken  window  below, 
and  was  thereby  able  to  hold  the  boat 
against  the  current. 

"  Monsieur  the  colonel !  "  called  Ange- 
lique ;  and  she  saw  the  swift  removal  of  his 
hat. 

"Mademoiselle, have  you  been  alarmed?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur.      Even  my  father   was 


THE  RISING.  135 

unable  to  do  anything  for  the  family  until 
you  came.  But  it  seems  when  we  find  one 
relief  we  get  another  anxiety  with  it." 

"  What  other  anxiety  have  you  now  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  drowned  trying 
to  carry  us  out." 

"  My  bel-o-ved,  would  you  care  ?  "  said 
Pierre  Menard,  speaking  English,  which  his 
slave  could  not  understand,  and  accenting 
on  the  first  syllable  the  name  he  gave  her. 

"Yes;  it  would  be  a  serious  inconven- 
ience to  me,"  replied  Angelique. 

"  Now  that  is  worth  coming  here  for.  De 
northwest  wind,  I  do  not  feel  it  since  you 
say  that." 

"I  was  thinking  before  you  came,  mon- 
sieur, what  if  I  should  never  see  you  again  ? 
And  if  I  saw  you  plainly  now  I  could  not 
talk  so  much.  But  something  may  happen. 
It  is  so  strange,  and  like  another  world,  this 
water." 

Tante-gra'mere  screamed,  and  Angelique 
disappeared  from  the  window-sill.  It  was 
not  the  mere  outcry  of  a  frightened  woman. 


13G  .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

The  keen  small  shriek  was  so  terrihle  in 
its  helplessness  and  appeal  to  Heaven  that 
Captain  Saucier  was  made  limp  by  it. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  asked  his  family. 
"  I  cannot  force  her  into  the  boat  when  she 
cries  out  like  that." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  go  at  dawn,"  suggested 
Angelique.  "The  wind  may  sink.  The 
howling  and  the  darkness  terrify  her  more 
than  the  water." 

"But  Colonel  Menard  cannot  wait  until 
dawn.  We  shall  all  be  drowned  here  be- 
fore she  will  budge,"  lamented  Madame 
Saucier. 

"  Leave  her  with  me,"  urged  Peggy  Mor- 
rison, "  and  the  rest  of  you  go  with  Colonel 
Menard.  "  I  '11  manage  her.  She  will  be 
ready  to  jump  out  of  the  window  into  the 
next  boat  that  comes  along." 

"We  cannot  leave  her,  Peggy,  and  we 
cannot  leave  you.  I  am  responsible  to  your 
father  for  your  safety.  I  will  put  you  and 
my  family  into  the  boat,  and  stay  with  her 
myself." 


THE  RISING.  137 

"  Angelique  will  not  leave  me !  "  cried  the 
little  voice  among  the  screens. 

"Are  you  ready  to  lower  them?"  called 
Colonel  Menard. 

Captain  Saucier  went  again  to  the  win- 
dow, his  wife  and  daughter  and  Peggy  with 
him. 

"  I  could  not  leave  her,"  said  Angelique 
to  Peggy.  They  stood  behind  the  father 
and  mother,  who  told  their  trouble  across 
the  sill. 

"That  spoiled  old  woman  needs  a  good 
shaking,"  declared  Peggy. 

"  Poor  little  tante  -  gra'mere.  It  is  a 
dreadful  thing,  Peggy,  to  be  a  child  when 
you  are  too  old  for  discipline." 

"Give  my  compliments  to  madame,  and 
coax  her,"  urged  Colonel  Menard.  "  Tell 
her,  if  she  will  let  herself  be  lowered  to  me, 
I  will  pledge  my  life  for  her  safety." 

The  two  children  stood  huddled  together, 
waiting,  large  -  eyed  and  silent,  while  their 
elders  kneeled  around  the  immovable  in- 
valid. Peggy  laughed  at  the  expectant  atti- 
tudes of  the  pleaders. 


138       ,  OLD  KASKA8KIA. 

"  Tunte-gra'niere  has  now  quite  made  up 
her  mind  to  go,"  Madame  Saucier  announced 
over  and  over  to  lier  family  and  to  Peggy, 
and  to  the  slaves  at  the  partition  door,  all 
of  whom  were  waiting  for  the  rescue  barred 
from  them  by  one  obstinate  little  mummy. 

But  these  hopeful  assertions  were  wasted. 
Tante-gra'mere  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
stay.  She  held  to  her  whip,  and  refused  to  be 
touched.  Her  fixed  decree  was  announced  to 
Colonel  Menard.  He  asked  for  the  women 
and  children  of  the  family  in  haste.  He 
and  his  man  were  wasting  time  and  strength 
holding  the  boat  against  the  waves.  It  was 
in  danger  of  being  swamped. 

Angelique  stood  deferentially  before  her 
father  and  asked  his  permission  to  stay  with 
his  grand-aunt.  In  the  same  deferential 
manner  she  asked  permission  of  her  mother. 
Madame  Saucier  leaned  on  her  husband's 
shoulder  and  wept.  It  was  plain  that  the 
mother  must  go  with  her  two  young  chil- 
dren only.  Peggy  said  she  would  not  leave 
Angelique. 


THE  RISING.  139 

"  Monsieur  tlie  colonel,"  spoke  Angelique 
again  into  the  windy  darkness,  "  we  are  not 
worth  half  the  trouble  you  are  taking  for  us. 
I  wonder  you  do  not  leave  such  ridiculous 
people  to  drown  or  get  out  as  we  can.  But 
my  tante-gra'mere  is  so  old ;  please  forgive 
her.  My  mother  and  the  children  are  quite 
ready.  I  wish  poor  Mademoiselle  Zhone 
were  with  you,  too." 

"  I  will  fetch  Mademoiselle  Zhone  out  of 
her  house  before  madame  and  the  children 
get  in,"  said  Pierre  Menard  promptly.  "  As 
for  the  delay,  it  is  nothing,  mademoiselle ; 
we  must  get  you  all  to  land  as  we  can." 

"  Monsieur,  will  it  not  be  dangerous  ?  I 
thought  of  her  because  she  is  so  sick.  But 
there  is  foam  everywhere ;  and  the  trees  are 
in  your  way." 

"We  can  find  a  track,"  answered  the 
colonel.     "  Push  off,  boy, " 

The  boat  labored  out,  and  the  click  of 
oars  in  rowlocks  became  presently  a  distant 
thumping,  and  then  all  sound  was  lost  in 
the  wash  of  water. 


140       .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Aiigelique  went  to  the  dormer  window  in 
the  gable.  As  she  threw  the  sashes  wide 
she  was  partly  drenched  by  a  wave,  and 
tante-gra'mere  sent  from  the  screens  a  shrill 
mandate  against  wind  which  cut  to  the  bone. 
Captain  Saucier  fastened  the  sashes  again. 
He  was  a  crestfallen  man.  He  had  fought 
Indians  with  credit,  but  he  was  not  equal  to 
the  weakest  member  of  his  household. 

Occasionally  the  rafters  creaked  from  a 
blow,  and  a  wave  rushed  up  the  roof. 

"  It  is  rising  higher,"  said  Peggy. 

Angelique  wished  she  had  not  mentioned 
Mademoiselle  Zhone.  Perhaps,  when  the 
colonel  had  risked  his  life  to  bring  the  sick 
girl  out  of  a  swamped  house,  her  family 
might  prefer  to  wait  until  morning  to  put- 
ting her  in  the  boat  now. 

The  bells  kept  ringing,  now  filling  the 
attic  with  their  vibrations,  and  then  receding 
to  a  faint  and  far-off  clamor  as  the  wind' 
swept  by.  They  called  to  all  the  bluff- 
dwellers  within  miles  of  Kaskaskia. 

The  children  sat  down,  and  leaned  their 


THE  RISING.  141 

heads  against  their  mother's  knee.  The 
others  waited  in  drawing-room  chairs ;  feel- 
ing the  weariness  of  anxiety  and  hroken 
domestic  habits.  Captain  Saucier  watched 
for  the  return  of  the  boat ;  but  before  it 
seemed  possible  the  little  voyage  could  be 
made  they  felt  a  jar  under  the  gable  window, 
and  Rice  Jones's  voice  called. 

The  gable  of  the  house  had  a  sloping  roof, 
its  window  being  on  a  level  with  the  other 
windows.  Captain  Saucier  leaned  far  out. 
The  wind  had  extinguished  the  boat's  lan- 
tern. The  rowers  were  trying  to  hold  the 
boat  broadside  to  the  house,  but  it  rose  and 
fell  on  waves  which  became  breakers  and 
threatened  to  capsize  it.  All  Kaskaskia  men 
were  acquainted  with  water.  Pierre  Menard 
had  made  many  a  river  journey.  But  the 
Mississippi  in  this  wild  aspect  was  new  to 
them  all. 

"Can  you  take  her  in?"  shouted  Rice. 
"  My  sister  thinks  she  cannot  be  got  ashore 
alive." 

"  Can  you  lift  her  to  me  ?  " 


142  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  When  the  next  wave  comes,"  said  Rice. 

He  steadied  himself  and  lifted  Maria.  As 
the  swell  again  tossed  the  boat  upward,  he 
rose  on  a  bench  and  lifted  her  as  high  as 
he  could.  Captain  Saucier  caught  the  frail 
bundle  and  drew  the  sick  girl  into  the  attic. 
He  laid  her  down  on  the  children's  bed, 
leaving  her  to  Angelique,  while  he  prepared 
to  put  them  and  their  mother  into  the  boat. 
Rice  crept  over  the  wet  strip  of  gable  roof, 
and  entered  the  window  after  his  sister.  By 
lantern  light  he  was  a  strong  living  figure. 
His  austerely  white  face  was  full  of  amuse- 
ment at  the  Kaskaskian  situation.  His  hat 
had  blown  away.  The  water  had  sleeked 
down  his  hair  to  a  satin  skullcap  on  his  full 
head. 

"  This  is  a  wet  night,  madame  and  mes- 
demoiselles,"  he  observed. 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Zhone,"  lamented  Ma- 
dame Saucier,  "  how  can  you  laugh  ?  We 
are  all  ruined." 

"  No,  madame.  There  is  no  such  word  as 
'  ruin '  in  the  Territory." 


THE  RISING.  143 

"  And  I  must  take  my  two  little  children, 
and  leave  Angelique  here  in  the  midst  of 
this  water." 

Rice  had  directly  knelt  down  by  his  sister 
and  put  his  hand  on  her  forehead.  Maria 
was  quite  still,  and  evidently  gathering  her 
little  strength  together. 

"  But  why  do  you  remain  ?  "  said  Rice  to 
Angelique.  She  was  at  Marians  opposite 
side,  and  she  merely  indicated  the  presence 
behind  the  screens ;  but  Peggy  explained 
aloud,  — 

"  She  can't  go  because  tante-gra'mere 
won't  be  moved." 

"  Put  that  limb  of  a  Morrison  girl  out  of 
the  house,"  came  an  unexpected  mandate 
from  amongst  the  screens. 

"  I  would  gladly  put  her  out,"  said  Cap- 
tain Saucier  anxiously.  "  Peggy,  my  child, 
now  that  Mademoiselle  Zhone  is  with  Ange- 
lique, be  persuaded  to  go  with  madame  and 
the  children." 

Peggy  shook  her  head,  laughing.  A  keen 
new  delight  in  delay  and  danger  made  her 
sparkle. 


144  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  Go  yourself,  Captain  Saucier.  One 
gentleman  is  enough  to  take  care  of  us." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  go,  Captain  Sau- 
cier," said  Rice.  "  You  will  be  needed.  The 
boat  may  be  swamped  by  some  of  those  large 
wa\es.  I  am  ashamed  of  leaving  my  step- 
mother behind  ;  but  she  would  not  leave  my 
father,  and  Maria  clung  to  me.  We  dared 
not  fill  the  boat  too  full." 

Angelique  ran  and  kissed  the  children  be- 
fore her  father  put  them  into  the  boat,  and 
offered  her  cheeks  to  her  mother.  Madame 
Saucier  was  a  fat  woman.  She  clung  ap- 
palled to  her  husband,  as  he  let  her  over  the 
slippery  roof.  Two  slave  men  braced  them- 
selves and  held  the  ropes  which  steadied 
him,  the  whites  of  their  eyes  showing.  Their 
mistress  was  landed  with  a  plunge,  but  stead- 
ied on  her  seat  by  Colonel  Menard. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  out,  "  I  have  left  the 
house  without  saying  adieu  to  tante-gra'- 
mere.  My  mind  is  distracted.  She  will  as 
long  as  she  lives  remember  this  discourtesy." 

"It  could  be  easily  remedied,  madame," 


THE  RISING.  145 

suggested  Colonel  Menard,  panting  as  he 
braced  his  oar,  "  if  she  would  step  into  the 
boat  herself,  as  we  all  wish  her  to  do." 

"  Oh,  monsieur  the  colonel,  you  are  the 
best  of  men.  If  you  had  only  had  the  train- 
ing of  her  instead  of  my  poor  gentle  Francis, 
she  might  not  be  so  hard  to  manage  now." 

"  We  must  not  flatter  ourselves,  madame. 
But  Mademoiselle  Angelique  must  not  re- 
main here  much  longer  for  anybody's  whim." 

"  Do  you  think  the  water  is  rising  ?  " 

"  It  is  certainly  rising." 

Madame  Saucier  uttered  a  shriek  as  a 
great  swell  rolled  the  boat.  The  searching 
wind  penetrated  all  her  garments  and  blew 
back  loose  ends  of  her  hair.  There  was  now 
a  partially  clear  sky,  and  the  moon  sent 
forth  a  little  lustre  as  a  hint  of  what  she 
might  do  when  she  had  entirely  freed  her- 
self from  clouds. 

The  children  were  lowered,  and  after  them 
their  black  nurse. 

"  There  is  room  for  at  least  one  more !  " 
called  Pierre  Menard. 


146      .  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Captain  Saucier  stood  irresolute. 

"Can  you  not  trust  me  with  these  frag- 
ments of  our  families  ?  "  said  Kice. 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur  Reece,  certainly. 
It  is  not  that.  But  you  see  the  water  is 
still  rising." 

"  I  was  testing  the  rise  of  the  water  when 
Colonel  Menard  reached  us.  The  wind 
makes  it  seem  higher  than  it  really  is.  You 
can  go  and  return,  captain,  while  you  are 
hesitating." 

"  I  am  torn  in  two,"  declared  the  Indian 
fighter.  "  It  makes  a  child  of  me  to  leave 
Angelique  behind." 

"  Francis  Saucier,"  came  in  shrill  French 
from  the  screens,  "  get  into  that  boat,  and 
leave  my  godchild  alone." 

The  captain  laughed.  He  also  kissed  the 
cheeks  of  tante-gra'mere's  godchild  and  let 
himself  slide  down  the  roof,  and  the  boat 
was  off  directly. 

The  slaves,  before  returning  to  their  own 
room,  again  fastened  the  sashes  of  the  dor- 
mer window.     The  clamor  of  bells  which 


THE  RISING.  147 

seemed  to  pour  through  the  open  window 
was  thus  partly  silenced.  The  lantern  made 
its  dim  illumination  with  specks  of  light, 
swinging  from  a  nail  over  the  window  alcove. 
Maria  had  not  yet  unclosed  her  eyes.  Her 
wasted  hand  made  a  network  around  one  of 
Rice's  fingers,  and  as  the  coughing  spasm 
seized  her  she  tightened  it. 

"She  wants  air,"  he  said  hastily,  and 
Angelique  again  spread  wide  the  window 
in  the  gable,  when  the  thin  cry  of  her  tante- 
gra'mere  forbade  it. 

"But,  dear  tante-gra'mere,  Mademoiselle 
Zhone  must  have  air." 

"  And  must  she  selfishly  give  me  rheuma- 
tism in  order  to  give  herself  air  ?  " 

"  But,  dear  tante-gra'mere  "  — 

"  Shut  that  window." 

"  I  dare  not,  indeed." 

Rice  seized  two  corners  of  the  feather  pal- 
let, and  made  it  travel  in  a  swift  swish  across 
the  attic  boards  to  the  window  at  the  front, 
which  he  opened.  Supporting  Maria  in  his 
arms,  he  signaled  Angelique,  with  an  amused 


148     •  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

face,  to  obey  her  tyrant;  and  she  did  so. 
But  Peggy  stalked  behind  the  screens,  and 
put  her  face  close  to  the  black  eyes  in  the 
great  soft  lair  built  up  of  so  many  beds. 

"You  and  I  are  nice  people,  madame," 
said  Peggy  through  her  teeth.  "  We  don't 
care  who  suffers,  if  we  are  happy.  We  ought 
to  have  been  twins ;  the  same  little  beast 
lives  in  us  both." 

Tante-gra'mere's  eyes  snapped. 

"  You  are  a  limb,"  she  responded  in  shrill 
French. 

"  Yes ;  we  know  each  other,"  said  Peggy. 

"  When  you  are  old,  there  will  come  a 
little  wretch  to  revile  you." 

"  I  don't  revile  you,  madame.  I  dote  on 
you."  • 

"  Your  mother  should  box  your  ears, 
mademoiselle." 

"  It  would  do  me  no  good,  madame." 

"I  should  like  to  try  it,"  said  tante-gra'- 
mere,  without  humor. 

Angelique  did  not  hear  this  little  quarrel. 
She  was  helping  Rice  with  his  sister.     His 


THE  RISING.  149 

pockets  were  full  of  Maria's  medicines.  He 
set  the  bottles  out,  and  Angelique  arranged 
them  ready  for  use.  They  gave  her  a  spoon- 
ful and  raised  her  on  pillows,  and  she  rested 
drowsily  again,  grateful  for  the  damp  wind 
which  made  the  others  shiver.  Angelique's 
sweet  fixed  gaze,  with  an  unconscious  focus 
of  vital  power,  dwelt  on  the  sick  girl;  she 
felt  the  yearning  pity  which  mothers  feel. 
And  this,  or  the  glamour  of  dim  light,  made 
her  oval  face  and  dark  hair  so  beautiful  that 
Kice  looked  at  her ;  and  Peggy,  coming  from 
the  screens,  resented  that  look. 

Peggy  sat  down  in  the  window,  facing 
them,  the  dormer  alcove  making  a  tunnel 
through  which  she  could  watch  like  a  spider ; 
though  she  lounged  indifferently  against  the 
frame,  and  turned  toward  the  water  streets 
and  storm-drenched  half  houses  which  the 
moon  now  plainly  revealed.  The  northwest 
wind  set  her  teeth  with  its  chill,  and  ripples 
of  froth  chased  each  other  up  the  roof  at 
her. 

"  The  water  is  still  rising,"  remarked 
Peggy. 


(,1 


inO      •  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  Look,  Peggy,"  begged  Angelique,  "  and 
see  if  Colonel  Menard  and  my  father  are 
coming  back  with  the  boat." 
It  is  too  soon,"  said  Rice. 
Perhaps  Colonel  Menard  will  never  come 
back,"  suggested  Peggy.  "  It  was  a  bad 
sign  when  the  screech-owl  screeched  in  the 
old  Jesuit  College." 

"  But  the  storm  is  over  now.  The  water 
is  not  washing  over  the  house." 

"The  moon  shows  plenty  of  whitecaps. 
It  is  rough." 

"  As  long  as  this  wind  lasts  the  water  will 
be  boisterous,"  said  Rice.  "  But  Colonel 
Menard  no  more  minds  rough  weather  than 
a  priest  carrying  the  sacrament.  He  is  used 
to  the  rivers." 

"  Hear  a  Protestant  catering  to  a  papist," 
observed  Peggy.  "  But  it  is  lost  on  Ange- 
lique. She  is  as  good  as  engaged  to  Colonel 
Menard.  She  accepted  him  through  the 
window  before  all  of  us,  when  he  came  to 
the  rescue." 

"Must   I   congratulate   him?"    Rice   in- 


THE  RISING.  151 

quired   of  Angelique.      "He   certainly  de- 
serves his  good  luck." 

"  Peggy  has  no  right  to  announce  it  so !  " 
exclaimed  Angelique,  feeling  invaded  and 
despoiled  of  family  privacy.  "  It  is  not  yet 
called  an  engagement." 

Peggy  glanced  at  Rice  Jones,  and  felt 
grateful  to  Heaven  for  the  flood.  She  ad- 
mired him  with  keen  appreciation.  He  took 
his  disappointment  as  he  would  have  taken 
an  offered  flower,  considered  it  without  chan- 
ging a  muscle,  and  complimented  the  giver. 

Guns  began  to  be  heard  from  the  bluffs 
in  answer  to  the  bells.  Peggy  leaned  out  to 
look  across  the  tossing  waste  at  a  dim  ridge 
of  shadow  which  she  knew  to  be  the  bluffs. 
The  sound  bounded  over  the  water.  From 
this  front  window  of  the  attic  some  arches  of 
the  bridge  were  always  visible.  She  could 
not  now  guess  where  it  crossed,  or  feel  sure 
that  any  of  its  masonry  withstood  the  enor- 
mous pressure. 

The  negroes  were  leaning  out  of  their 
dormer    window,    also,   and   watching    the 


152    •  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

nightmare  world  into  which  the  sunny  pe- 
ninsula was  changed.  When  a  particularly- 
high  swell  threw  foam  in  their  faces  they 
started  back,  but  others  as  anxious  took 
their  places. 

"  Boats  will  be  putting  out  from  the  bluffs 
plentifully,  soon,"  said  Rice.  "Before  to- 
morrow sunset  all  Kaskaskia  and  its  goods 
and  chattels  will  be  moved  to  the  uplands.'* 

"  I  wonder  what  became  of  the  poor  cows,'* 
mused  Angelique.  "  They  were  turned  out 
to  the  common  pasture  before  the  storm." 

"  Some  of  them  were  carried  down  by  the 
rivers,  and  some  swam  out  to  the  uplands. 
It  is  a  strange  predicament  for  the  capital 
of  a  great  Territory.  But  these  rich  low- 
lands were  made  by  water,  and  if  they  can 
survive  overflow  they  must  be  profited  by 
it." 

"  What  effect  will  this  have  on  the  elec- 
tion ?  "  inquired  Peggy,  and  Rice  laughed. 

"You  can't  put  us  back  on  our  ordinary 
level.  Miss  Peggy.  We  are  lifted  above 
elections  for  the  present."     —   -     — 


THE  lilSlNG.  lo3 

"  Here  is  a  boat !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  the 
slaves  at  the  other  window  hailed  Father 
Olivier  as  he  tried  to  steady  himself  at  the 
angle  formed  by  the  roofs. 

Angelique  looked  out,  but  Rice  sat  still 
beside  his  sister. 

"  Are  you  all  quite  safe  ?  "  shouted  the 
priest. 

"  Quite,  father.  The  slaves  were  brought 
in,  and  we  are  all  in  the  attic." 

"  Keep  up  your  courage  and  your  prayers. 
As  soon  as  this  strong  wind  dies  away  they 
will  put  out  from  shore  for  you." 

"  Colonel  Menard  has  already  been  here 
and  taken  part  of  the  family." 

"  Has  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father  ;  though  tante-gra'mere  is 
afraid  to  venture  yet,  so  we  remain  with 
her." 

They  could  see  the  priest,  indistinctly, 
sitting  in  a  small  skifp,  which  he  tried  to 
keep  off  the  roof  with  a  rough  paddle. 

"  Where  did  you  find  a  boat,  father  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  one  the  negroes  had  on  the 


154    •  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

marsh  by  the  levee.  It  lodged  in  my  gal- 
lery, and  by  the  help  of  the  saints  I  am  try- 
ing to  voyage  from  house  to  house,  as  far  as 
I  can,  and  carry  a  little  encouragement.  I 
have  the  parish  records  here  with  me  ;  and 
if  this  vessel  capsizes,  their  loss  would  be 
worse  for  this  parish  than  the  loss  of  me." 

*'  But,  father,  you  are  not  trying  to  reach 
the  land  in  that  frail  canoe  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  my  daughter ;  not  until  some 
of  the  people  are  taken  out.  I  did  intend 
to  venture  for  help,  but  the  ringing  of  the 
bells  has  been  of  service  to  us.  The  sexton 
will  stay  in  the  belfry  all  night.  I  was  able 
to  get  him  there  by  means  of  this  boat." 

"  Come  up  here  until  the  wind  dies  down, 
Monsieur  Olivier,"  urged  Peggy.  "  That 
little  tub  is  not  strong  enough  to  carry  you. 
I  have  seen  it.  The  slaves  made  it,  with 
scarcely  any  tools,  of  some  boards  from  the 
old  Jesuit  College." 

"  The  little  tub  has  done  g-^od  service  to- 
night, mademoiselle  ;  and  I  must  get  as  far 
as  the  tavern,  at  least,  to  carry  news  of  their 


THE  RISING.  155 

families  to  men  there.  Antoine  Lamarche's 
child  in  dead,  and  his  family  are  on  the  roof. 
I  was  able  to  minister  to  its  parting  soul ; 
and  I  set  the  others,  for  safety,  astride  the 
roof-pole,  promising  them  heavy  penance  if 
they  moved  before  help  came.  He  ought 
now  to  take  this  boat  and  go  to  them,  if  I 
can  put  him  in  heart  to  do  it." 

"  A  Protestant  hardly  caters  to  a  papist 
when  he  puts  some  faith  in  the  courage  of  a 
man  like  Father  Olivier,"  said  Rice  to 
Peggy. 

"  Did  I  hint  that  you  would  cater  to  any 
one?"  she  responded,  with  a  lift  of  her 
slender  chin.  The  wind  had  blown  out  a 
long  tress  of  Peggy's  hair,  which  trailed 
to  the  floor.  Rice  seldom  looked  at  her; 
but  he  noticed  this  sweep  of  living  redness 
with  something  like  approval ;  in  shadow  it 
shone  softened  to  bronze. 

"  I  think  my  father  and  Colonel  Menard 
are  coming  back,"  said  Angelique.  "  I  see 
a  light  moving  out  from  the  bluifs." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  they  are  only  picking  their  way 
among  trees  to  a  landing." 


156  ■  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"They  have  gone  with  the  current  and 
the  wind,"  said  Rice.  "  It  will  take  a 
longer  time  to  make  their  way  back  against 
the  current  and  the  wind." 

"  Let  us  begin  to  bind  and  gag  madame 
now,  anyhow,"  Peggy  suggested  recklessly. 
"It's  what  the  colonel  will  do,  if  he  is 
forced  to  it.  She  will  never  of  her  own 
will  go  into  the  boat." 

"  Poor  tante-gra'mere.  I  should  have 
asked  Father  Olivier  to  urge  her.  But  this 
is  such  a  time  of  confusion  one  thinks  of 
nothing." 

Angelique  bent  to  watch  Maria's  stupor. 
Rice  had  put  the  skeleton  hand  under  a 
coverlet  which  was  drawn  to  the  sick  girl's 
chin.  He  sat  beside  her  on  one  of  the  bro- 
caded drawing-room  chairs,  his  head  resting 
against  the  high  back  and  his  crossed  feet 
stretched  toward  the  window,  in  an  atti- 
tude of  his  own  which  expressed  quiescent 
power.  Peggy  went  directly  behind  the 
screens,  determined  to  pounce  upon  the  wo- 
man who  prolonged  their  stay  in  a  flooded 


THE  RISING.  157 

house,  and  deal  with  her  as  there  would  not 
be  opportunity  to  do  later.  Tante-gra'mere 
was  asleep. 

Angelique  sat  down  with  Peggy  on  the 
floor,  a  little  way  from  the  pile  of  feather 
heds.  They  were  very  weary.  The  tonic  of 
excitement,  and  even  of  Rice  Jones's  pres- 
ence, failed  in  their  effect  on  Peggy.  It  was 
past  midnight.  The  girls  heard  cocks  crow- 
ing along  the  bluffs.  Angelique  took  the 
red  head  upon  her  shoulder,  saying,  — 

"  It  would  be  better  if  we  slept  until  they 
call,  since  there  is  nothing  else  to  do." 

"You  might  coquette  over  Maria  Jones. 
I  won't  tell." 

"  What  a  thorn  you  are,  Peggy !  If  I 
did  not  know  the  rose  that  goes  with  it "  — 
Angelique  did  not  state  her  alternative. 

"  A  red  rose,"  scoffed  Peggy ;  and  she 
felt  herself  drowsing  in  the  mother  arms. 

Rice  was  keenly  awake,  and  when  the 
girls  went  into  the  privacy  of  the  screens  he 
sat  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  oblong 
of  darkly  blue  night  sky  which   it  shaped 


158  ■  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

for  him.  His  temples  throbbed.  Though 
the  strange  conditions  around  hun  were  not 
able  to  vary  his  usual  habits  of  thought, 
something  exhilarated  him ;  and  he  won- 
dered at  that,  when  Peggy  had  told  him 
Angelique's  decision  against  him.  He  felt 
at  peace  with  the  world,  and  for  the  first 
time  even  with  Dr.  Dunlap. 

"  We  are  here  such  a  little  time,"  thought 
Rice,  "and  are  all  such  poor  wretches. 
What  does  it  matter,  the  damage  we  do 
one  another  in  our  groping  about?  God 
forgive  me  !  I  would  have  killed  that  man, 
and  maybe  added  another  pang  to  the  suf- 
fering of  this  dying  girl." 

Maria  stirred.  The  snoring  of  the  sleep- 
ing negroes  penetrated  the  dividing  wall. 
He  thought  he  heard  a  rasping  on  the 
shingles  outside  which  could  not  be  ac- 
counted for  by  wind  or  water,  and  rose  to 
his  feet,  that  instant  facing  Dr.  Dunlap  in 
the  window. 

Dr.  Dunlap  had  one  leg  across  the  low 
sill.     The  two  men  stood  breathless.    Maria 


THE  lilSING.  159 

saw  the  intruder.  She  sat  up,  articulating 
his  name.  At  that  piteous  sound,  betraying 
him  to  her  brother,  the  cowardly  impulse 
of  many  days'  growth  carried  Dr.  Dunlap's 
hand  like  a  flash  to  his  pocket.  He  fired 
his  pistol  directly  into  Rice's  breast,  and 
dropped  back  through  the  window  to  the 
boat  he  had  taken  from  the  priest. 

The  screams  of  women  and  the  terrified 
outcry  of  slaves  filled  the  attic.  Rice  threw 
his  arms  above  his  head,  and  sunk  down- 
ward. In  the  midst  of  the  smoke  Peggy 
knelt  by  him,  and  lifted  liis  head  and  shoul- 
ders. The  night  wind  blew  upon  them,  and 
she  could  discern  his  dilated  eyes  and  piteous 
amazement. 

"  Dr.  Dunlap  has  shot  me,"  he  said  to 
her.  "  I  don't  know  why  he  did  it."  And 
his  face  fell  against  her  bosom  as  he  died. 


PART   FOURTH. 

THE   FLOOD. 

The  moonlight  shone  iv  through  both 
windows  and  the  lantern  glimmered.  The 
choking  smell  of  gunpowder  spread  from 
room  to  room.  Two  of  the  slave  men  sprung 
across  the  sill  to  pursue  Dr.  Dmiiap,  but 
they  could  do  nothing.  They  could  see  him 
paddling  away  from  the  house,  and  giving 
himself  up  to  the  current ;  a  desperate  man, 
whose  fate  was  from  that  hour  unlaiown. 
Night  and  the  paralysis  which  the  flood  laid 
upon  human  action  favored  him.  Did  a  still 
pitying  soul  bend  above  his  wild-eyed  and 
reckless  plunging  through  wliirls  of  water, 
comprehending  that  he  had  been  startled 
into  assassination ;  that  the  deed  was,  like 
the  result  of  his  marriage,  a  tragedy  he  did 
not  foresee  ?   Some  men  are  made  for  strong 


THE  FLOOD.  161 

domestic  ties,  yet  run  with  brutal  precipita- 
tion into  the  loneliness  of  evil. 

A  desire  to  get  out  of  the  flood-bound 
tavern,  an  unreasonable  impulse  to  see  An- 
gelique  Saucier  and  perhaps  be  of  use  to  her, 
a  mistakenly  silent  entering  of  the  house 
which  he  hardly  knew  how  to  approach,  — 
these  were  the  conditions  which  put  him 
in  the  way  of  his  crime.  The  old  journey 
of  Cain  was  already  begun  while  Angelique 
was  robbing  her  great-grand-aunt's  bed  of 
pillows  to  put  under  Rice  Jones.  The  aged 
woman  had  gone  into  her  shell  of  sleep,  and 
the  muffled  shot,  the  confusion  and  wailing, 
did  not  wake  her.  Wachique  and  another 
slave  lifted  the  body  and  laid  it  on  the 
quickly  spread  couch  of  pillows. 

Nobody  thought  of  Maria.  She  lay  quite 
still,  and  made  no  sound  in  that  flurry  of 
terror. 

"  He  is  badly  hurt,"  said  Angelique. 
"  Lizette,  bring  linen,  the  first  your  hand 
touches ;  and  you,  Achille,  open  his  vest  and 
find  the  wound  quickly." 


162.  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"But  it's  no  use,  ma'amselle,"  whispered 
Wachique,  lifting  her  eyes. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  poor  Achille.  I  will 
show  you  how  myself.  We  cannot  wait  for 
any  one  to  help  us.  What  would  my  father 
and  Colonel  Menard  say,  if  they  found  Mon- 
sieur Reece  Zhone  killed  in  our  house  ?  " 

In  her  panic  Angclique  tore  the  vest  wide, 
and  found  the  great  stain  over  the  place 
where  the  heart  should  be.  She  was  kneel- 
ing, and  she  turned  back  to  Peggy,  who 
stood  behind  her. 

Death  is  great  or  it  is  a  piteous  change, 
like  the  slaughter  of  brutes,  according  as  we 
bear  ourselves  in  its  presence.  How  mighty 
an  experience  it  is  to  wait  where  world  over- 
laps the  edge  of  world,  and  feel  the  vastness 
of  eternity  around  us !  A  moment  ago  — 
or  was  it  many  ages  ?  —  he  spoke.  Now  he 
is  gone,  leaving  a  strange  visible  image  lying 
there  to  awe  us.  The  dead  take  sudden 
majesty.  They  become  as  gods.  We  think 
they  hear  us  when  we  speak  of  them,  and 
their  good  becomes  sacred.      A  dead  face 


THE  FLOOD.  163 

has  all  human  faults  wiped  from  it ;  and 
that  Shape,  that  Presence,  whose  passiveness 
seems  infinite,  how  it  fills  the  house,  the 
town,  the  whole  world,  while  it  stays ! 

The  hardest  problem  we  have  to  face  here 
is  the  waste  of  our  best  things,  —  of  hopes, 
of  patience,  of  love,  of  days,  of  agonizing 
labor,  of  lives  which  promise  most.  Rice's 
astonishment  at  the  brutal  waste  of  him- 
self had  already  passed  off  his  countenance. 
The  open  eyes  saw  nothing,  but  the  lips 
were  closed  in  sublime  peace. 

"  And  his  sister,"  wept  Angelique.  "  Look 
at  Mademoiselle  Zhone,  also." 

The  dozen  negroes,  pld  and  young,  led  1)y 
Achille,  began  to  sob  in  music  one  of  those 
sweet  undertone  chants  for  the  dead  which 
no  race  but  theirs  can  master.  They  sung 
the  power  of  the  man  and  the  tenderness  of 
the  young  sister  whose  soul  followed  her 
brother's,  and  they  called  from  that  ark  on 
the  waters  for  saints  and  angels  to  come 
down  and  bless  the  beds  of  the  two.  The 
bells    intoned   with    them,   and    a   sinking: 


164  OLD  K ASK  A  SKI  A. 

wind  carried  a  lighter  ripple  against  the 
house. 

"  Send  them  out,"  spoke  Peggy  Morrison, 
with  an  imperious  sweep  of  the  arm ;  and 
the  half-breed  authoritatively  hurried  the 
other  slaves  back  to  their  doorway.  The 
submissive  race  understood  and  obeyed,  anx- 
iously watching  Peggy  as  she  wavered  in  her 
erectness  and  groped  with  the  fingers  of  both 
hands. 

"  Put  camphor  under  Ma'amselle  Peggy's 
nose,  Wachique,*'  whispered  Achille. 

Peggy  found  Rice's  chair,  and  sat  down ; 
but  as  soon  as  she  returned  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  bottle  under  her  nose  and  an 
arm  around  her,  she  said,  — 

"  Go  away.     A  Morrison  never  faints." 

Angelique  was  kneeling  like  a  nun.  She 
felt  the  push  of  a  foot. 

"  Stop  that  crying,"  said  Peggy  fiercely. 
"  I  hate  to  hear  it.  What  right  have  you  to 
cry?" 

"No  right  at  all.  But  the  whole  Terri- 
tory will  weep  over  this." 


THE  FLOOD.  165 

"  Whrt  right  has  the  Territory  in  him 
now  ?  The  Territory  will  soon  find  another 
brilliant  man.'* 

"  And  this  poor  tiny  girl,  Peggy,  so  near 
her  death,  what  had  she  done  to  deserve 
that  it  should  come  in  this  form  ?  Are  men 
gone  mad  in  this  flood,  that  Dr.  Dunlap,  for 
a  mere  political  feud,  should  seek  out  Mon- 
sieur Reece  Zlione  in  my  father's  house,  and 
shoot  him  down  before  our  eyes?  I  am 
dazed.     It  is  like  a  nightmare." 

Peggy  set  her  mouth  and  looked  abroad 
into  the  brightening  night. 

Angelique  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  shook  with  sobbing.  The  three  girlish 
figures,  one  rigid  on  the  bed,  another  rigid 
in  the  chair,  and  the  third  bending  in  vica- 
rious suffering  between  them,  were  made  sud- 
denly clear  by  an  illumination  of  the  moon 
as  it  began  to  find  the  western  window. 
Wachique  had  busied  herself  seeking  among 
piles  of  furniture  for  candles,  which  she  con- 
sidered a  necessity  for  the  dead.  The  house 
supply  of  wax  tapers  was  in  the  submerged 


ICC  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

cellar.  So  she  took  the  lantern  from  its  nail 
and  set  it  on  the  floor  at  the  head  of  the  two 
pallets,  and  it  threw  scattered  spots  of  lustre 
on  Rice's  white  forehead  and  Maria's  hair. 
This  humble  shrouded  torch,  impertinent  as 
it  looked  when  the  lily-white  moonlight  lay 
across  it,  yet  reminded  beholders  of  a  stable, 
and  a  Child  born  in  a  stable  who  had  taught 
the  race  to  turn  every  sorrow  into  glory. 

The  night  sent  its  quiet  through  the  attic, 
though  the  bells  which  had  clamored  so  over 
the  destruction  of  verdure  and  homes  ap- 
peared now  to  clamor  louder  over  the  de- 
struction of  youth. 

"  Do  you  understand  this,  Peggy  ?  They 
died  heretic  and  unblessed,  yet  I  want  to 
know  what  they  now  know  until  it  seems  to 
me  I  cannot  wait.  When  I  have  been  play- 
ing the  harp  to  tante-gra'mere,  and  thinking 
so  much,  long,  long  afternoons,  such  a  strange 
homesickness  has  grown  in  me.  I  could  not 
make  anybody  believe  it  if  I  told  it.  These 
two  have  found  out  what  is  beyond.  They 
have  found  out  the  great  secret.   Oh,  Peggy, 


THE  FLOOD.  1G7 

I  do  want  to  know  it,  also.  There  will  be 
an  awful  mourning  over  them ;  and  when 
they  go  into  their  little  earthen  cellars,  peo- 
ple will  pity  that,  and  say,  '  Poor  things.' 
But  they  know  the  mystery  of  the  ages  now, 
and  we  know  nothing.  Do  you  think  they 
are  yet  very  far  away?  Monsieur  lieece? 
Mademoiselle  ?  " 

Angelique's  low  interrogating  call,  made 
while  she  keenly  listened  with  lifted  face, 
had  its  only  response  in  a  mutter  from  Wa- 
chique,  who  feared  any  invocation  of  spirits. 
Peggy  sat  looking  straight  ahead  of  her 
without  a  word.  She  could  not  wash  her 
face  soft  with  tears,  and  she  felt  no  reach- 
ing out  toAvards  disembodiment.  What  she 
wanted  was  love  in  this  world,  and  pride  in 
her  love  ;  long  years  of  glad  living  on  the 
verdure  of  earth  in  the  light  of  the  sun. 
One  presence  could  make  the  common  old 
world  celestial  enough  for  her.  She  had 
missed  her  desire.  But  Rice  had  turned  his 
face  to  her  as  he  died. 

Two  boats  moved  to  the  eaves  and  rested 


1(58       *  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

there,  shiikeu  only  by  a  ripple  of  the  quiet- 
ing water.  The  overflowed  rivers  would  lie 
eahn  when  the  wind  allowed  it,  excepting 
where  a  boiling  (current  drove.  The  dazed 
girls  yet  seemed  to  dreiun  through  the  strong 
indignation  and  the  inquiry  and  fruitless 
})lans  of  arriving  men.  It  was  a  dream  when 
Captain  Saucier  sat  down  and  stared  hag- 
gardly at  the  two  who  had  perished  under 
his  roof,  and  Colonel  Menard  stood  with  his 
hat  over  his  face.  It  was  a  dream  when  the 
brother  and  sister  were  lowered  and  placed 
on  one  pallet  in  a  boat.  The  hollow  of  the 
rafters,  the  walls  on  which  one  might  mark 
with  his  nail,  the  waiting  black  faces,  the 
figures  toiling  down  the  roof  with  those 
loads,  —  were  any  of  these  sights  real  ? 

"  Wrap  yourselves,"  said  Captain  Saucier 
to  Peggy  and  Angelique.  "  The  other  boat 
is  quite  ready  for  you." 

"  But,  papa,  are  Monsieur  Eeece  and  his 
sister  going  alone  with  the  rowers  ?  " 

"  I  am  myself  going  with  them." 

''  Papa,"    urged   Angelique,     "  Mademoi- 


THE  FLOOD.  109 

selle  Zhoue  was  a  young  girl.  If  I  were  in 
her  place,  would  you  not  like  to  have  some 
young  girl  sit  by  my  head  ?  " 

*'  But  you  cannot  go." 

*'  No,  but  Peggy  can." 

"  Peggy  would  rather  go  with  you." 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  do  it." 

"  WiU  you,  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will." 

So  Angclique  wrapped  Peggy  first,  and 
went  with  her  as  far  as  the  window.  It  was 
the  window  through  which  Dr.  Dunlap  had 
stepped. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Peggy,"  whispered  Ange- 
lique  ;  for  the  other  seemed  starting  on  the 
main  journey  of  her  life. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Angelique." 

Peggy's  eyes  were  tearless  still,  but  she 
looked  and  looked  at  Angelique,  and  looked 
back  mutely  again  when  she  sat  at  Rice's 
head  in  the  boat.  She  had  him  to  herself. 
Between  the  water  and  the  sky,  and  within 
the  dim  horizon  band,  she  could  be  alone 
with  him.     He  was  her  own  while  the  boat 


170  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

felt  its  way  across  the  waste.  The  rowers 
sat  on  a  bench  over  the  foot  of  the  pal- 
let. Captain  Saucier  wis  obliged  to  steer. 
Peggy  sat  in  the  prow,  and  while  they  strug- 
gled against  the  rivers,  she  looked  with  the 
proud  courage  of  a  Morrison  at  her  dead 
whom  she  must  never  claim  again. 

The  colonel  put  Angelique  first  into  the 
waiting  boat.  Wachique  was  set  in  front 
of  her,  to  receive  tante-gra'mere  when  the 
potentate's  chrysalid  should  be  lowered. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Angelique 
leaned  back,  letting  slip  from  herself  oU  re- 
sponsibility. Colonel  Menard  could  bring 
her  great-grand-aunt  out.  The  sense  of  mov- 
ing in  a  picture,  of  not  feeling  what  she 
handled,  and  of  being  cut  o:ff  from  the  reali- 
ties of  life  followed  Angelique  into  the  boat. 
She  was  worn  to  exhaustion.  Her  torpid 
pulses  owned  the  chill  upon  the  waters. 

There  was  room  in  which  a  few  of  the 
little  blacks  might  be  stowed  without  annoy- 
ing tante-gra'mere,  but  their  mothers  begged 
to  keep  them  until  all  could  go  together. 


THE  FLOOD.  171 

*'  Now,  my  children,"  said  Colonel  Me- 
nard, "have  patience  for  another  hour  or 
two,  when  the  boats  shall  return  and  bring 
you  all  off.  The  house  is  safe ;  there  is  no 
longer  a  strong  wind  driving  waves  over  it. 
A  few  people  in  Kaskaskia  have  had  to  sit 
on  their  roofs  since  the  water  rose." 

Achille  promised  to  take  charge  of  his 
master's  household.  But  one  of  the  women 
pointed  to  the  stain  on  the  floor.  The  lan- 
tern yet  burned  at  the  head  of  Rice's  de- 
serted pillows.  Superstition  began  to  rise 
from  that  spot.  They  no  longer  had  Ange- 
lique  among  them,  with  her  atmosphere  of 
invisible  angels. 

"  That  is  the  blood  of  the  best  man  in  the 
Territory,"  said  Colonel  Menard.  "  I  would 
give  much  more  of  my  own  to  bring  back 
the  man  who  spilled  it.  Are  you  afraid  of 
a  mere  blood-spot  in  the  gray  of  the  morn- 
ing ?  Go  into  the  other  room  and  fasten 
the  door,  then.  Achille  will  show  you  that 
he  can  stay  here  alone." 

"  If  mo'sieu'  the  colonel  would  let  me  go 
into  that  room,  too  "  — 


172  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

"  Go  in,  Acliille,"  said  the  colonel  in- 
dnlgently. 

Colonel  Menard  made  short  work  of  em- 
barking tante  -  gra'mere.  In  emergencies, 
he  was  deft  and  delicate  with  his  hands. 
She  never  knew  who  caught  her  in  coverlets 
and  did  her  up  like  a  papoose,  with  a  pillow 
under  her  head. 

"Pull  westward  to  the  next  street,"  he 
gave  orders  to  his  oarsmen.  "  We  found  it 
easy  going  with  the  current  that  way.  It 
will  double  the  distance,  but  give  us  less 
trouble  to  get  into  dead  water  the  other  side 
of  the  Okaw." 

Early  sunnner  dawn  was  breaking  over 
that  deluged  world,  a  whiter  light  than 
moonshine  giving  increasing  distinctjicss  to 
every  object.  This  hint  of  day  gave  rest  to 
the  tired  ringers  in  church  tower  and  con- 
vent belfry.  The  bells  died  away,  and  still- 
ness brooded  on  the  water  plain.  Hoarse 
roaring  of  the  yellow  current  became  a  mere 
monotonous  background  for  other  sounds. 
A  breath  stole  from  the  east,  bringing  the 


THE  FLOOD.  173 

scent  of  rain-washed  earth  and  foliage  and 
sweet  mints.  There  was  no  other  wind ; 
and  the  boat  shot  easily  on  its  course  along- 
side a  thicket  made  by  orchard  treetops. 
Some  birds,  maybe  proprietors  of  drowned 
nests,  were  already  complaining  over  these, 
or  toppling  experimentally  down  on  branch 
tips. 

Kaskaskia  had  become  a  strange  half- 
town,  cut  off  around  its  middle.  It  affected 
one  like  a  man  standing  on  his  arm2)its. 
The  capital  of  the  Territory  was  composed 
chiefly  of  roofs  and  dormer  windows,  of 
S(|uatty  wooden  islands  in  a  boundless  sea. 
The  Church  of  the  Innnaculate  Concep- 
tion was  a  laughable  tent  of  masonry,  top- 
heavy  with  its  square  tower.  As  for  cul- 
tivated fields  and  the  j^astures  where  the 
cattle  grazed,  such  vanished  realities  were 
forgotten.  And  what  was  washing  over  the 
marble  tombs  and  slate  crosses  in  the  church- 
yard ? 

The  flood  strangely  lifted  and  forced  sky- 
ward the  plane  of  life,  yet  lowered  all  life's 


174  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

functions.  An  open  and  liberal  sky,  dap- 
pling with  a  promise  from  the  east,  bent 
over  and  mocked  paralyzed  humanity. 

The  noble  bluffs  had  become  a  sunken 
ridge,  water  meeting  the  forests  a  little  be- 
low their  waists.  From  their  coverts  boats 
could  now  be  seen  puttrng  out  in  every  di- 
rection, and,  though  the  morning  star  was 
paling,  each  carried  a  light.  They  were  like 
a  party  of  belated  fireflies  escaping  from 
daylight.  Faces  in  dormer  windows  waited 
for  them.  Down  by  the  Jesuit  College 
weak  hurrahs  arose  from  people  on  roofs. 

"The  governor  has  come  with  help  for 
us,"  said  Pierre  Menard. 

In  this  dead  ^yorld  of  Kaskaskia  not  a  dog 
barked ;  not  one  of  the  shortened  chimney- 
stacks  smoked.  Some  of  the  houses  had 
their  casements  closed  in  terrible  silence ; 
but  out  of  others  neighbors  looked  and 
greeted  Angelique  in  the  abashed  way  pecu- 
liar to  people  who  have  not  got  used  to  an 
amputation,  and  are  sensitive  about  their 
new  appearance  in  the  world.     Heads  leaned 


THE  FLOOD.  175 

out,  alsv^,  firing  jokes  after  the  boat,  and 
offering  the  colonel  large  shares  in  the  com- 
mon fields  and  entire  crops  for  a  seat  in  his 
conveyance. 

Drift  of  rotten  wood  stuck  to  the  house 
sides,  and  broken  trees  or  stumps,  jammed 
under  gallery  roofs,  resented  the  current, 
and  broke  the  surface  as  they  rose  and 
dipped.  Strange  craft,  large  and  small,  rode 
down  the  turgid  sweep.  Straw  beehives 
rolled  along  like  gigantic  pine  cones,  and 
rustic  hencoops  of  bottom-land  settlers  kept 
their  balance  as  they  moved.  Far  off,  a  cart 
could  be  outlined  making  a  hopeless  ford. 
The  current  was  so  broad  that  its  sweep 
extended  beyond  the  reach  of  sight ;  and 
perhaps  the  strangest  object  carried  by  this 
tremendous  force  was  a  small  clapboarded 
house.  Its  back  and  front  doors  stood  open, 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  stood  a  soli- 
tary chair.  One  expected  to  siee  a  figure 
emerge  from  a  hidden  corner  and  sit  down 
forlornly  in  the  chair. 

The  slender  voice  of  a  violin  stole  across 


17H  OLD  KASKASJUA. 

the  water,  —  an  exorcism  of  the  spell  that 
had  fallen  on  Kaskaskia.  As  the  boat 
reached  the  tavern  corner,  this  thread  of 
melody  was  easily  followed  to  the  ballroom 
on  the  second  floor  of  the  tavern,  where  the 
Assembly  balls  were  danced.  A  slave,  who 
had  nothing  but  his  daily  bread  to  lose,  and 
who  would  be  assured  of  that  by  the  hand 
of  charity  when  his  master  could  no  longer 
maintain  him,  might  take  up  the  bow  and 
touch  the  fiddle  gayly  in  such  a  time  of  gen- 
eral calamity.  But  there  was  also  dancing 
in  the  ballroom.  The  boat  turned  south  and 
shot  down  a  canal  bordered  by  trunkless 
shade  trees,  which  had  been  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal streets  of  Kaskaskia.  At  the  instant 
of  turning,  however.  Father  Baby  could  be 
seen  as  he  whirled,  though  his  skinny  head 
and  gray  capote  need  not  have  added  their 
evidence  to  the  exact  sound  of  his  foot  which 
came  so  distinctly  across  the  water.  His 
little  shop,  his  goods,  his  secret  stocking-leg 
of  coin,  —  for  Father  Baby  was  his  own 
banker,  — were  buried   out  of   sight.     His 


THE  FLOOD.  177 

crop  in  the  common  fields  and  provision  for 
winter  lay  also  imder  the  Mississippi.  His 
late  lodger  had  taken  to  the  river,  and  was 
probably  drowned.  lie  had  no  warrant  ex- 
cept in  the  nimbleness  of  his  slave's  legs 
that  he  even  had  a  slave  left.  Yet  he  had 
never  in  his  life  felt  so  full  of  dance.  The 
flood  mounted  to  his  head  like  wine.  Father 
Olivier  was  in  the  tavern  without  forbid- 
ding it.  Doubtless  he  thought  the  example 
an  exhilarating  one,  when  a  grown-up  child 
could  dance  over  material  loss,  remembering 
only  the  joy  of  life. 

Wachique  had  felt  her  bundle  squirm 
from  the  moment  it  was  given  to  her.  She 
enlarged  on  the  hint  Colonel  Menard  had 
giv^en,  and  held  the  drapery  bound  tightly 
around  the  prisoner.  The  boat  shot  past  the 
church,  and  over  the  spot  where  St.  John's 
bonfire  had  so  recently  burnt  out,  and  across 
that  street  through  which  the  girls  had 
scampered  on  their  Midsummer  Night  er- 
rand. 

"  But  stop,"  said  Colonel  Menard ;  and 


178  .  OLD  EASKASKIA. 

he  pointed  out  to  the  rowers  an  obstruction 
which  none  of  them  had  seen  in  the  night. 
From  the  Jesuit  College  across  the  true 
bed  of  the  Okaw  a  dam  had  formed,  prob- 
ably having  for  its  base  part  of  the  bridge 
masonry.  Whole  trees  were  swept  into  the 
barricade.  "  We  cannot  now  cross  diago- 
nally and  come  back  through  the  dead  water 
at  our  leisure,  for  there  is  that  dam  to  be 
passed.     Pull  for  the  old  college." 

The  boat  was  therefore  turned,  and  thus 
took  the  same  course  that  the  girls  had 
taken.  The  current  was  at  right  angles  with 
its  advance,  though  the  houses  on  the  north 
somewhp.t  broke  that  force.  The  roofless 
building,  ridivjulously  shortened  in  its  height, 
had  more  the  look  of  a  fortress  than  when  it 
was  used  as  one.  The  walls  had  been  washed 
out  above  both  great  entrances,  making  spa- 
cious jagged  arches  through  which  larger  craft 
than  theirs  could  pass.  Colonel  Menard  was 
quick  to  see  this ;  he  steered  and  directed 
his  men  accordingly.  The  Jesuit  College 
was  too  well  built  to  crumble  on  the  heads 


THE  FLOOD.  179 

of  chance  passers,  though  the  wind  and  the 
flood  had  battered  it;  to  row  through  it 
would  shorten  their  course. 

Angelique  did  not  say  a  word  about  the 
changed  aspect  of  her  worhl.  A  warmth  in 
the  pearly  light  over  the  bluffs  promised  a 
clear  day :  and  how  Kaskaskia  would  look 
with  the  sun  shining  on  her  predicament! 
The  boat  cut  through  braiding  and  twisting 
water,  and  shot  into  the  college.  Part  of 
the  building's  upper  floor  remained ;  every- 
thing else  was  gone. 

The  walls  threw  a  shadow  upon  them,  and 
the  green  flicker,  dancing  up  and  down  as 
they  disturbed  the  inclosure,  played  curi- 
ously on  their  faces.  The  stones  suddenly 
echoed  a  slap.  Tante-gra'mere's  struggling 
wrath,  which  Wachique  had  tried  to  keep 
bound  in  the  coverlet,  having  found  an 
outlet,  was  swift  as  lightning  in  its  reprisal. 
The  stings  of  the  whiplash  had  exhilaration 
and  dignity  compared  to  this  attack.  It  was 
the  climax  of  her  midget  rages.  She  forgot 
the  breeding  of  a  gentlewoman,  and  furiously 
struck  her  slave  in  the  face. 


180  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Wachique  stai'ted  up,  licr  Pottawatomie 
blood  painting  her  cheek  bones.  That  in- 
stant she  was  an  Indian,  not  a  shive.  She 
remembered  everything  this  petted  despot 
had  done  to  her,  and,  lifting  her  bundle, 
threw  it  as  far  as  her  arms  could  send  it 
across  the  water  floor  of  the  college.  The 
pitiful  little  weight  sunk  with  a  gurgling 
sound. 

"  Sit  down,  woman ! "  shouted  Colonel 
Menard. 

Wachique  cowered,  and  tried  to  obey. 
But  the  motion  she  had  given  the  boat  was 
not  to  be  overcome.  It  careened,  and  the 
water  rushed  over  their  knees,  filled  it  full, 
and  became  a  whirlpool  of  grasping  hands 
and  choking  heads. 

The  overturned  boat,  wedged  partially 
under  the  flooring,  lodged  against  the  east- 
ern wall.  Both  negro  rowers  came  up  from 
their  plunge  and  climbed  like  cats  upon  this 
platform,  smearing  a  mire  of  sodden  plaster- 
ing over  their  homespun  trousers  as  they 
crawled.     One  of  them  reached  down  and 


THE  FLOOD.  181 

caught  the  half-breed  by  the  hair,  as  slie 
rose  at  the  edge  of  the  flooring.  Between 
tJiem  tliey  were  able  to  draw  her  up. 

The  shock  of  a  cold  flood  around  Anac- 
lique's  ears  sent  life  as  vivid  as  fire  through 
her  brain.  The  exhaustion  and  stupor  of 
the  night  were  gone.  She  felt  her  l>ody 
swallowed.  It  went  down  to  the  floor  where 
the  girls  had  walked  when  they  chanted, 
"  Hempseed,  I  sow  thee."  It  rose,  and  all 
the  rai)turous  advantage  which  there  was  in 
continuing  to  inhabit  it  took  mighty  posses- 
sion of  her.  She  was  so  healthily,  so  hap- 
pily lodged.  It  was  a  sin  to  say  she  was 
longing  for  the  mystery  hereafter,  when  all 
the  beautiful  mysteries  here  were  unknown 
to  her.  Then  Colonel  Menard  was  holding 
her  up,  and  she  was  dragged  to  sight  and 
breathing  once  more,  and  to  a  solid  support 
under  her  melting  life.  She  lay  on  the 
floor,  seeing  the  open  sky  above  her,  con- 
scious that  streams  of  water  poured  from 
her  clothes  and  her  hair,  ran  down  her  face, 
and  dripped  from  her  ears.     A  slow  terror 


182  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

which  had  underlain  all  these  physical  per- 
ceptions now  burst  from  her  thoughts  like 
flame.  Her  great-grand-aunt,  the  infant  of 
the  house,  was  all  this  time  lying  at  the 
bottom  of  the  old  college.  It  was  really  not 
a  minute,  but  minutes  are  long  to  the  drown- 
ing. Angelique  caught  her  breath,  saying, 
*'  Tante-gra'mere  !  "  She  heard  a  plunge, 
and  knew  that  Colonel  Menard  had  stood 
on  the  platform  only  long  enough  to  cast 
aside  his  coat  and  shoes  before  he  dived. 

The  slaves,  supporting  themselves  on  their 
palms,  stretched  forward,  open-mouthed. 
There  was  the  rippling  surface,  carrying  the 
shadow  of  the  walls.  Nothing  came  up.  A 
cow  could  be  heard  lowing  on  the  bluffs  to 
her  lost  calf.  The  morning  twitter  of  birds 
became  an  aggressive  and  sickening  sound. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  demanded  Angelique, 
creeping  also  to  her  trembling  knees. 
"  Where  is  monsieur  the  colonel  ?  " 

Both  men  gave  her  the  silent,  frightened 
testimony  of  their  rolling  eyes,  but  Wa- 
ciiique  lay  along  the  floor  with  hidden  face. 


THE  FLOOD.  183 

Not  a  bubble  broke  the  yellow  sheet  smoth- 
ering and  keeping  him  down. 

As  the  driving  of  steel  it  went  through 
Angelique  that  the  aching  and  passion  and 
ferocity  which  rose  in  her  were  love.  She 
loved  that  man  under  the  water ;  she  so 
loved  him  that  she  must  go  down  after  him ; 
for  what  was  life,  with  him  there?  She 
must  have  loved  him  when  she  was  a  child, 
and  he  used  to  take  off  his  hat  to  her,  say- 
ing, "Good-day,  mademoiselle."  She  must 
have  felt  a  childish  jealousy  of  the  woman 
called  Madame  Menard,  who  had  once 
owned  him,  —  had  owned  the  very  color- 
ing of  his  face,  the  laugh  in  his  eye,  the 
mastery  of  his  presence  among  men.  She 
loved  Colonel  Menard  —  and  he  was  gone. 

"  Turn  over  the  boat !  "  screamed  Ange- 
lique. "  He  is  caught  in  the  cellars  of  this 
old  house,  —  the  floors  are  broken.  We 
must  find  him.     He  will  never  come  up." 

The  men,  ready  to  do  anything  which  was 
suggested  to  their  slow  minds,  made  haste  to 
creep  along  the   weak'^ned  flooring,   which 


184  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

shook  as  they  moved,  and  to  push  the  boat 
from  its  lodgment.  The  oars  were  fast  in 
the  rowlocks,  and  stuck  against  beams  or 
stones,  and  made  hard  work  of  getting  the 
boat  righted. 

•'  Why  does  he  not  come  up  ?  Does  any 
one  stay  under  water  as  long  as  this  ?  Oh, 
be  quick  !  Turn  it,  —  turn  it  over !  "  Ange- 
lique  reached  down  with  the  men  to  grasp 
the  slippery  boat,  her  vivid  will  giving  their 
clumsiness  direction  and  force.  They  got 
it  free  and  turned  it,  dipping  a  little  water 
as  they  did  so  ;  but  she  let  herself  into  its 
wet  hollow  and  bailed  that  out  with  her 
hands.  The  two  dropped  directly  after  her, 
and  with  one  push  of  the  oars  sent  the  boat 
over  the  spot  where  Colonel  Menard  had 
gone  down. 

"  Which  of  you  will  go  in  ?  " 

"  Ma'amselle,  I  can't  swim,"  piteously  de- 
clared the  older  negro. 

"  Neither  can  I,  ma'amselle,"  pleaded  the 
other. 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  go  in  myself.     I 


THE  FLOOD.  185 

cannot  swim,  either,  and  I  shall  die,  but  I 
cannot  help  it." 

The  desperate  and  useless  impulse  which 
so  often  perishes  in  words  returned  upon  her 
with  its  absurdity  as  she  stared  down,  trying 
to  part  the  muddy  atoms  of  the  Mississippi. 
The  men  held  the  boat  in  a  scarcely  visible 
stream  moving  from  west  to  east  through  the 
gaps  in  the  building.  They  eyed  her,  wait- 
ing the  motions  of  the  Caucasian  mind,  but 
dumbly  certain  it  was  their  duty  to  seize  her 
if  she  tried  to  throw  herself  in. 

They  waited  until  Angelique  hid  her  face 
upon  a  bench,  shivering  in  her  clinging  gar- 
ments with  a  chiU  which  was  colder  than 
any  the  river  gave.  A  ghostly  shadow  of 
themselves  and  the  boat  and  the  collapsed 
figure  of  the  girl  began  to  grow  upon  the 
water.  More  stones  in  the  moist  walls 
showed  glistening  surfaces  as  the  light 
mounted.  The  fact  that  they  had  lost  their 
master,  that  his  household  was  without  a 
head,  that  the  calamity  of  Kaskaskia  in- 
volved their  future,  then  took  possession  of 


186  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

both  poor  fellows,  and  the  great  heart  of 
Africa  shook  the  boat  with  sobs  and  groans 
and  useless  cries  for  help. 

"  Come  out  here,  you  black  rascals ! " 
called  a.  voice  from  the  log  dam. 

Angelique  lifted  her  head.  Colonel  Me- 
nard was  in  plain  sight,  resting  his  arms 
across  a  tree,  and  propping  a  ijodden  bundle 
on  branches.  Neither  Angelique  nor  his 
men  had  turned  a  glance  through  the  eastern 
gap,  or  thought  of  the  stream  sweeping  to  the 
dam.  The  spot  where  he  sank,  the  broken 
floor,  the  inclosing  walls,  were  their  absorb- 
ing boundaries  as  to  his  fate.  As  the  slaves 
saw  him,  a  IrcU  and  sheepish  look  came 
on  their  faces  at  having  wailed  his  death 
in  his  living  ears.  They  shot  through  the 
door  vigorously,  and  brought  the  boat  with 
care  alongside  the  trunk  supporting  him. 

The  colonel  let  them  take  tante-gra'm^re 
in.  He  was  exhausted.  One  arm  and  his 
cheek  sunk  on  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  they 
drew  him  across  it,  steadying  themselves  by 
the  foliage  upreared  by  the  tree. 


THE  FLOOD.  187 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  rose  and 
pearl  streaks  in  the  sky.  The  sun  was 
mounting  behind  the  bluffs.  Then  a  canopy 
of  leaves  intervened,  and  a  whir  of  bird 
wings  came  to  his  ears.  The  boat  had 
reached  dead  water,  and  was  moving  over 
the  submerged  roadbed,  and  groping  betwixt 
the  stems  of  great  pecan-trees,  —  the  great 
pecan-trees  which  stood  sentinel  on  the  river 
borders  of  his  estate.  He  noticed  how  the 
broken  limbs  flourished  in  the  water,  every 
leaf  satisfied  with  the  moisture  it  drew. 

The  colonel  realized  that  he  was  lying  flat 
in  a  boat  which  had  not  been  bailed  dry, 
and  that  his  head  rested  on  wet  homespun, 
by  its  odor  belonging  to  Louis  or  Jacques  ; 
and  he  saw  their  black  naked  arms  paddling 
with  the  oars.  Beyond  them  he  saw  Wa- 
chique  holding  her  mistress  carefully  and 
unrestrained ;  and  the  negro  in  her  quailed 
.  before  him  at  the  deed  the  Indian  had  done, 
scarcely  comforted  by  the  twinkle  in  the 
colonel's  eye.  Tan te-gra' mere  was  sitting 
up  meekly,  less  affected  by  dampness  than 


188  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

anybody  else  in  the  boat.  She  had  a  fresh 
and  toughened  look.  Her  baptism  in  the 
rivers  had  perhaps  renewed  her  for  another 
century. 

"  Madame,  you  are  certainly  the  most  re- 
markable woman  in  this  Territory.  You 
have  borne  this  night  marvelously  well,  and 
the  accident  of  the  boat  even  better." 

"  Not  at  all,  monsieur  the  colonel." 

She  spoke  as  children  do  when  effectually 
punished  for  ill  temper. 

"Are  you  cold?" 

"I  am  wet,  monsieur.  We  are  all  wet. 
It  is  indeed  a  time  of  flood." 

"  We  shall  soon  see  a  blazing  fire  and  a 
'  t  breakfast,  and  all  the  garments  in  the 
country  will  be  ours  without  asking." 

The  colonel  raised  himseK  on  his  elbow 
and  looked  around.  Angelique  sat  beside 
his  head ;  so  .close  that  they  both  blushed. 

They  were  not  wet  nor  chilled  nor  hungry. 
They  had  not  looked  on  death  nor  felt  the 
shadow  of  eternity.  The  sweet  mystery  of 
continued  life  was  before  them.     The  flood, 


THE  FLOOD.  189 

like  a  sea  of  glass,  spread  itself  to  the  thou- 
sand footsteps  of  the  sun. 

Tante-gra'mere  kept  her  eyes  upon  them. 
But  it  is  not  easy  to  hear  what  people  say 
when  you  are  riding  among  treetops  and 
bird's-nests  in  the  early  morning. 

"  Mademoiselle,  we  are  nearly  home." 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  It  has  been  to  me  a  great  night." 

"  I  can  understand  that,  monsieur." 

"  The  children  will  be  dancing  when  they 
see  you.  Odile  and  Pierre  were  awake,  and 
they  both  cried  when  the  first  boat  came 
home  last  night  without  you." 

"  Monsieur  the  colonel,  you  are  too  good 
to  us." 

"  Angelique,  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  monsieur." 

"  But  it  must  be  owned  I  am  a  dozen 
years  older  than  you,  and  I  have  loved 
before." 

"  I  never  have." 

"  Does  it  not  seem  a  pity,  then,  that 
you  who  have  had  the  pick  of  the  Territory 


190  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

should  become  the  second  wife  of  Pierre 
Menard  ?  " 

"I  should  rather  be  the  second  choice 
with  you,  monsieur,  than  the  first  choice  of 
any  other  man  in  the  Territory." 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  adore  you." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,  monsieur.'' 

"  What  did  you  think  when  I  was  under 
water  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  think,  monsieur.  I  perished. 
It  was  then  you  conquered  me.'* 

"  Good.  I  will  take  to  the  water  when- 
ever any  little  difference  arises  between  us. 
It  is  a  lucky  thing  for  me  that  I  am  a  prac- 
ticed river  man." 

"  I  do  not  say  it  could  be  done  again. 
Never  will  there  be  such  another  night  and 
morning." 

"Now  see  how  it  is  with  nature,  Ange- 
lique.  Life  is  always  rising  out  of  death. 
This  affair  of  ours,  —  I  call  it  a  lily  growing 
out  of  the  water.  Does  it  trouble  you  that 
your  old  home  is  out  there  standing  almost 
to  its  eaves  in  the  Mississippi  ?  " 


THE  FLOOD.  191 

"  Papa  cannot  now  give  me  so  good  a 
dower."  The  giiTs  lowered  eyes  laughed 
into  his. 

"  We  will  not  have  any  settlements  or  any 
dower.  We  will  be  married  in  this  new 
American  way.  Everything  I  have  left 
from  this  flood  will  be  yours  and  the  chil- 
dren's, anyhow.  But  while  there  is  game  in 
the  woods,  or  bacon  in  the  cellar,  or  flour  in 
the  bin,  or  wine  to  be  tapped,  or  a  cup  of 
milk  left,  not  a  child  or  woman  or  man  shall 
go  hungry.  I  was  not  unprepared  for  this. 
My  fur  storehouse  there  on  the  bank  of  the 
Okaw  is  empty.  At  the  first  rumor  of  high 
water  I  had  the  skins  carried  to  the  strong- 
house  on  the  hill." 

Angelique's  wet  hair  still  clung  to  her 
forehead,  but  her  warmth  had  returned  with 
a  glow.  The  colonel  was  a  compact  man, 
who  had  passed  through  water  as  his  own 
element.  To  be  dripping  was  no  hindrance 
to  his  courtship. 

"  When  may  we  celebrate  the  marriage  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  time  to  speak  of  marriage  when 
two  are  lying  dead  in  the  house  ?  " 


192  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

ll'iH  countenance  changed  at  the  rebuke, 
and,  as  all  fortunate  people  do  when  they 
have  passed  the  selfish  fury  of  youth,  he 
apologized  for  success. 

"  It  is  true.  And  Reece  Zhone  was  the 
only  man  in  the  Territory  whom  I  feared  as 
a  rival.  As  soon  as  he  is  laid  low  I  forget 
him.  He  would  not  so  soon  forget  me.  Yet 
I  do  not  forget  him.  The  whole  Illinois 
Territory  will  remember  him.  But  Reece 
Zhone  himself  would  not  blame  me,  when 
I  am  bringing  you  home  to  my  house,  for 
hinting  that  I  hope  to  keep  you  there." 

"To  keep  me  there,  monsieur  the  colonel  I 
No,  I  am  not  to  be  married  in  a  hurry." 

"But  I  made  my  proposals  months  ago, 
Angelique.  The  children  and  I  have  long 
had  our  secrets  about  bringing  you  home. 
Two  of  them  sit  on  my  knee  and  two  of 
them  climb  my  back,  and  we  talk  it  over. 
They  will  not  let  you  leave  the  house  alive, 
mademoiselle.  Father  Olivier  will  stUl  cel- 
ebrate the  sacraments  among  us.  Kaskas- 
kia  wiU  have  the  consolations  of  religion  for 


THE  FLOOD.  193 

this  flood ;  but  I  may  not  have  the  consola- 
tion of  knowing  my  own  wedding-day." 
"  The  church  is  now  half  full  of  water,'* 
"  Must  I  first  bail  out  the  church  ?  " 
"  I  draw  the  line  there,  monsieur  the  colo- 
nel.    You  are  a  prevailing  man.     You  will 
doubtless  wind  me  around  your  thumb  as 
you  do  the  Indians.     But  when  I  am  mar- 
ried, I  will  be  married  in  church,  and  sign 
the  register  in  the  old  way.     What,  mon- 
sieur, do  you  think  the  water  will  never  go 
down  ?  " 

"  It  will  go  down,  yes,  and  the  common 
fields  will  be  the  better  for  it.  But  it  is 
hard  a  man  should  have  to  watch  a  river- 
gauge  to  find  out  the  date  of  his  own  wed- 
ding." 

"  Yet  one  would  rather  do  that  than  never 
have  a  wedding  at  all." 

"  I  kiss  your  hand  on  that,  mademoiselle." 
"  What  are  those  little  rings  around  the 
base  of  the  trees,  monsieur  the  colonel  ?  " 

"  They  are  marks  which  show  that  the 
water  is  already  falling.     It  must  be  two 


194  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

inches  lower  than  last  night  on  the  Church 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception.  I  am  one 
sixth  of  a  foot  on  my  way  toward  matri- 
mony." 

A  tent  like  a  white  blossom  showed 
through  the  woods ;  then  many  more.  The 
bluffs  all  about  Pierre  Menard's  house  were 
dotted  with  them.  Boats  could  be  seen 
coming  back  from  the  town,  full  of  people. 
Two  or  three  sails  were  tacking  northward 
on  that  smooth  and  glistening  fresh-water 
sea.  Music  came  across  it,  meeting  the 
rising  sun ;  the  nuns  sang  their  matin  ser- 
vice as  they  were  rowed. 

Angelique  closed  her  eyes  over  tears.  It 
seemed  to  her  like  floating  into  the  next 
world,  —  in  music,  in  soft  shadow,  in  keen 
rapture,  —  seeing  the  light  on  the  hills 
beyond  while  her  beloved  held  her  by  the 
hand. 

All  day  boats  passed  back  and  forth  be- 
tween the  tented  bluffs  and  the  roofs  of 
Kaskaskia,  carrying  the  goods  of  a  tempo- 
rarily houseless   people.      At   dusk,   some 


THE  FLOOD.  195 

jaded  men  came  back  — among  them  Cap- 
tain Saucier  and  Colonel  Menard  —  from 
searching  overflow  and  uplands  for  Dr.  Dun- 
lap. 

At  dusk,  also,  the  fireflies  again  scattered 
over  the  lake,  without  waiting  for  a  belated 
moon.  Jean  Lozier  stood  at  the  top  of  the 
bluff,  on  his  old  mount  of  vision,  and  watched 
these  boats  finishing  the  work  of  the  day. 
They  carried  the  only  lights  now  to  be  seen 
in  Kaskaskia. 

He  was  not  excited  by  the  swarming  life 
just  below  him.  His  idea  of  Kaskaskia  was 
not  a  buzzing  encampm€q>t  around  a  glit- 
tering seigniory  house,  with  the  governor's 
presence  giving  it  grandeur,  and  Rice  Jones 
and  his  sister,  waiting  their  temporary  burial 
on  the  uplands,  giving  it  awe.  Old  Kaskas- 
kia had  been  over  yonder,  the  place  of  his 
desires,  his  love.  The  glamour  and  beauty 
and  story  were  on  the  smothered  valley,  and 
for  him  they  could  never  be  anywhere  else. 

Father  Olivier  came  out  on  the  bluff, 
and  Jean  at  once  pulled  his  cap  off,  and 


196  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

looked  at  the  ground  instead  of  at  the  pale 
green  and  wild-rose  tints  at  the  farther  side 
of  the  world.  They  heard  the  soft  wash  of 
the  flood.  The  priest  bared  his  head  to  the 
evening  air. 

"  My  son,  I  am  sorry  your  grandfather 
died  last  night,  while  I  was  unable  to  reach 
hrni." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  You  have  been  a  good  son  Your  con- 
science acquits?  you.  And  now  the  time  has 
come  when  you  are  free  to  go  anywhere  you 
please.'* 

Jean  looked  over  the  flood. 

*'  But  there 's  no  place  to  go  to  now, 
father.  I  was  waiting  for  Kaskaskia,  and 
Kaskaskia  is  gone." 

"  Not  gone,  my  son.  The  water  will  soon 
recede.  The  people  will  return  to  their 
homes.  Kaskaskia  will  be  the  capital  of 
the  new  State  yet." 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Jean  dejectedly.  He 
waited  until  the  priest  sauntered  away.  It 
was  not  for  him  to  contradict  a  priest.     But 


THE  FLOOD.  197 

watching  humid  darkness  grow  over  the 
place  where  Kaskaskia  had  been,  he  told 
himself  in  repeated  whispers,  — 

"  It  '11  never  be  the  same  again.  Old 
Kaskaskia  is  gone.  Just  when  I  am  ready 
to  go  there,  there  is  no  Kaskaskia  to  go  to." 

Jean  sat  down,  and  propped  his  elbows 
on  his  knees  and  his  face  in  his  hands,  as 
tender  a  spirit  as  ever  brooded  over  ruin. 
He  thought  he  could  bear  the  bereavement 
better  if  battle  and  fire  had  swept  it  away ; 
but  to  see  it  lying  drowned  before  him  made 
his  heart  a  clod. 

Singly  and  in  bunches  the  lantern-bear- 
ing boats  came  home  to  their  shelter  in 
the  pecan-trees,  leaving  the  engulfed  plain 
to  starlight.  No  lamp  was  seen,  no  music 
tinkled  there ;  in  the  water  streets  the  even- 
ing wind  made  tiny  tracks,  and  then  it  also 
deserted  the  town,  leaving  the  liquid  sheet 
drawn  and  fitted  smoothly  to  place.  Nothing 
but  water,  north,  west,  and  south;  a  vast 
plain  reflecting  stars,  and  here  and  there 
showing  spots  like  burnished  shields.     The 


J98  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

grotesque  halves  of  buildings  in  its  fore- 
ground became  as  insignificant  as  flecks  of 
shadow.  The  sky  was  a  clear  blue  dome, 
the  vaporous  folds  of  the  Milky  Way  seem- 
ing to  drift  across  it  in  indistinct  light. 

Now,  above  the  flowing  whisper  of  the 
inland  sea,  Jean  Lozier  could  hear  other 
sounds.  Thunder  began  in  the  north,  and 
rolled  with  its  cloud  toward  the  point  where 
Okaw  and  Mississippi  met ;  shaggy  lowered 
heads  and  flying  tails  and  a  thousand  hoofs 
swept  past  him ;  and  after  them  fleet  naked 
men,  who  made  themselves  one  with  the 
horses  they  rode.  The  buffalo  herds  were 
flying  before  their  hunters.  He  heard  bow- 
strings twang,  and  saw  great  creatures  stag- 
ger and  fall  headlong,  and  lie  panting  in  the 
long  grass. 

Then  pale  blue  wood  smoke  unfolded 
itself  upward,  and  the  lodges  were  spread, 
and  there  was  Cascasquia  of  the  Illinois. 
Black  gowns  came  down  the  northern  trail, 
and  a  cross  was  set  up. 

The  lodges  passed  into  wide   dormered 


THE  FLOOD.  199 

homesteads,  and  bowers  of  foliage  promised 
the  fruits  of  Europe  among  old  forest  trees. 
Jean  heard  the  drum,  and  saw  white  uni- 
forms moving  barik  and  forth,  and  gun  bar- 
rels glistening,  and  the  lilies  of  Franco  float- 
ing over  expeditions  which  put  out  to  the 
south.     This  was  Kaskaskia.    The  traffic  of 
the  West  gathered  to  it.     Men  and  women 
crossed  the  wilderness  to  find  the  charm  of 
life  there ;  the  waterways  and  a  north  trail 
as  firm  as  a  Koman   road   bringing   them 
easily  in.     Neyon  de  Villiers  lifted  the  hat 
from  his  fine  gray  head  and  saluted  soci- 
ety there ;  and  the  sidky  figure  of  Pontiac 
stalked  abroad.     Fort  Gage,  and  the  scarlet 
uniform  of  Great  Britain,  and  a  new  flag 
bearing  thirteen  stripes  swam  past  Jean's 
eyes.     The  old  French  days  were  gone,  but 
the  new  American  days,  blending  the  gath- 
ered races  into  one,  were  better  stiD.     Kas- 
kaskia was  a  seat  of  government,  a  Western 
republic,  rich  and  merry  and  generous  and 
eloquent,  with  the  great  river  and  the  world 
at  her  feet.     The  hum  of  traffic  came  up  to 


200  OLD  KASKASKIA. 

Jean.  He  saw  the  beautiful  children  ot 
^ontly  nurtured  mothers ;  he  saw  the  men 
who  moulded  public  opinion ;  he  saw  brawny 
white-clothed  slaves ;  he  saw  the  crowded 
wharf,  the  bridge  with  long  rays  of  motes 
stretching  across  it  from  the  low-lying  sun. 

Now  it  disappeared.  The  weird,  lone- 
some flood  spread  where  that  city  of  his  de- 
sires had  been. 

"  Kaskaskia  is  gone.  *  But  the  glory  re- 
mains when  the  light  fades  away.'  " 


